There's Work To Do
by Hekate1308
Summary: Dean Winchester tried his best to keep the garage he'd taken over from his father open, meanwhile ignoring his loved ones who wanted him to take more care of himself as well as his possibly not platonic feelings for his best friend Castiel Novak. Until the day an accident taught him more about himself than he would have thought possible. AU, mechanic!Dean, professor!Cas.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: Here is is, my contribution to the Dean/Castiel Big Bang on livejournal. The art by the wonderful amamik can be seen here: amamik. tumblr post/ 131082546580/ since-it-has-became-1013-in-my-regionhere-is-my**

 **Enjoy!**

His alarm rang at six am, as usual on weekdays, and like always, Dean Winchester, who had from infancy been more of a night owl than an early riser, groaned as he rolled out of bed.

He could have opened up the garage later these days since he was the owner, but his father still kept a strict watch on his former property, and Dean was used to it. So he dragged himself into the shower, then prepared some much-needed coffee in his small kitchen. He arrived at the garage punctually ten minutes before seven and went through the books quickly before having another cup of coffee.

While he didn't like getting up, he loved the few minutes of silence he had to himself every day before he opened the garage, when he didn't have to worry about whether or not any costumers would show up today, or where he could get the spare parts he desperately needed for a lower price.

He loved the garage. It was the one place he had always found refuge in. When his grades slipped, when Dad had been yelling at him – he had left and went to work on cars. It wasn't perfect; despite his best efforts, it was slowly falling into disrepair and he wasn't making nearly as much money as he wished; but it was home.

His thoughts drifted back to long days when he had been a boy, watching his father work on cars and being told that he'd one day inherit the shop. His mother coming, as he would later learn, from a doctor's appointment that confirmed all was well. Them telling him that he was going to be a big brother. He still used the chair he had been sitting on then.

He shook his head and returned to the here and now. Dwelling on his parents always led to the memory of flames and Sammy heavy in his arms, of them staying at Uncle Bobby's and him knocking on the old man's bedroom door late at night and asking where Mummy was and why Daddy was drinking so much of that nasty-smelling stuff, and how he could feed Sammy because he wouldn't stop crying.

The pain of his mother's death had slowly subsided over the last twenty-six years, but its effects on his family were still noticeable.

It wouldn't do to ponder such things, though. He had a shop to run.

He put down the empty cup and stepped into the garage, looking at the two cars he was currently working on. One the owner was supposed to pick up in two hours – since the part he needed had been delivered yesterday, it wouldn't be a problem – and the old Ford Tempo that belonged to Rufus, one of Bobby's friends. When he had brought it over two days ago, Dean had apologized and admitted that he couldn't do it for free, as he did when things were going smoothly; Rufus had smiled and clapped his shoulder and told him that it was no problem.

But it was. Dean wanted to run a successful business, one that enabled him to help those who had been there for him when he was a child and trying to look after his younger brother and father. Rufus hadn't been around as much as Bobby, but he had helped him carry John Winchester home from a bar more times than Dean could count. But he had simply earned less every year since he had taken over the shop three years ago, and he couldn't give away jobs for free. He sighed and set to work.

As he had expected, there were several things wrong with the motor. He liked the guy but really, Rufus had no idea how to take care of a car. He sighed. Getting the spare parts would be costly, and he wouldn't be able to give Rufus as large a discount as he wished. He tried to console himself with the thought that, even if he could have, Rufuswould probably have forced him to take the money anyway.

The owner of the other car appeared punctually and seemed content with the job Dean had done, and Dean took the check with a sense of relief. At least he had earned something today.

As he was trying to draw a rusty screw out of Rufus' motor, his phone rang. He straightened his back and wiped his hand before checking the caller ID and grinning.

Cas called him at least once a day, usually after he had finished with his lecture at KU. Today he'd had an early one, _Introduction to Iconography_.

"Hey, Cas."

"Hello, Dean."

"How was it? The students annoying you again?"

Cas, with his blue eyes, dark hair and polite and kind demeanour, had soon become one of the professors most students had crushes on; it had taken him almost the whole semester to surmise that one of his students wasn't interested in literature on religious studies, to the point of asking for additional information after every lecture, but in him. It had provided Dean with countless hours of mirth to explain to Cas what was going on; he'd eventually stopped because every time Cas' face fell, he had felt like a jerk. Which he supposed he was, but still.

"Several of them asked very insightful questions" Cas answered. "Are you working on Rufus's car?"

It was one of Cas' most endearing qualities (if Dean had ever admitted to finding anything endearing) that he always asked about Dean's work as if it was as important as what he did. Dean fixed cars for a living. He put together scrap metal and hoped he'd last another year. Cas educated people. He had a bright future ahead of him, one that actually included making a difference and getting known. Dean would always be what he was now.

He shook himself out of it. He wasn't going to be bitter about it. He had it far better than he deserved, anyway. Cas was still his friend, something he hadn't thought possible when Cas had left for college.

"Yeah" he answered, "Dude's got no idea how to take care of a motor."

"That's what we have you for," Cas said softly and Dean winced as he remembered working on Cas' atrocity of a car. He regularly managed to make it work again, but at the cost of his self-esteem and respect for his friend's taste.

"I guess," he replied slowly, looking down at the motor.

"I am sure you'll get more business soon," Cas said suddenly, as always reading his thoughts. "You are the best mechanic around."

"Doesn't help much," he mumbled, looking around his dilapidated work space. Aside from buying new tools, nothing had been updated for twenty-six years; not even a new table had been purchased. Dad didn't want it, and since he came by often to make sure Dean hadn't yet torn the place down, it wasn't worth the trouble.

Cas didn't say anything, and he was grateful for it. Sam gave him unwanted advice often enough.

"Are we still meeting tonight?" he asked, and Dean almost laughed. He and Cas didn't really need to make plans; he showed up spontaneously at his friend's often enough; but Cas always insisted on asking him whether he wanted to get dinner and then confirming the appointment.

"Of course. How could I say no to a _Star Trek_ marathon?" He grinned at Cas' feigned sigh.

"Your ability to enjoy movies you have already seen countless times as if you had never see them before will never cease to amaze me."

"Sorry, professor, too many big words in there, I didn't get it. Plus, we were talking about _Star Trek_ ".

Another sigh, and Cas said, "I'll see you tonight, Dean."

"Looking forward to it."

They hung up, never having needed long, drawn-out goodbyes when they talked to each other, although they could easily talk for hours if not interrupted.

Dean put his phone away with a smile and concentrated on getting Rufus' car running again. One day he might convince him to get a new one that wasn't rusting through and was much easier to maintain, even if nothing could beat the classics. Out of habit, he threw a glance through the window to ensure that his Baby was safely parked outside as he had left her.

He could probably get the car running again by closing time, he decided, giving Rufus a quick call. He sounded far too grateful considering he couldn't even let him off without paying, and Dean hung up, feeling guilty as a guy who drove a Volkswagen that had suddenly stopped working strolled in.

Dean had it up and purring within minutes, the guy happily driving off after paying the bill and leaving a healthy tip that Dean would have declined in better times because it was way too much, but which was quite welcome now.

He locked it in the old safe before going back to work on Rufus' car. He'd been right; he was soon putting the finishing touches to the old motor.

She really wouldn't look that bad, he decided, if he could just get a new coat of paint on her. And perhaps replace the old rims, with identical ones, of course. The car was barely twenty years old. There had to be spare parts somewhere...

He shook himself out of it. When he was little, he had entertained dreams of learning how to properly restore cars, and in his teens he had been practicing on Baby until she looked as perfect as he could make her, but it had all been a pipe dream of course. He would never have been smart enough for college, and Dad needed him. Didn't mean he didn't see an opportunity when it arrived, though, and if he hadn't known that Rufus wouldn't do it, he would have advised him to go to another, better trained mechanic to make the car presentable.

But since he knew the old man, he contented himself with polishing her – not as carefully as he always polished Baby, just enough so that she wasn't an embarrassment to his craftsmanship any longer.

Rufus noticed when he came in half an hour later, but didn't comment on it apart from paying more than Dean's work was worth and challenging him with a simple look to argue. Dean decided it wasn't worth it, and after Rufus had patted his shoulder and told him, "Thanks, son," he closed the garage with a sense of accomplishment.

He was on his way to Baby when his phone rang, and he happily accepted the call from his brother. Sammy was doing well for himself at Stanford, currently studying for his bar exam and still taking the time to call at least once a day. Dean preferred it if Sam contacted him since he didn't want to interrupt his studying. Sam, on the other hand, kept assuring him that he didn't have to worry so much about his marks, but still agreed that he would be the one to call.

"Hey, Sammy. Blown a fuse in that big brain of yours yet?"

They made small talk about their day, Dean leaning against Baby and enjoying the fresh breeze of the evening.

"Cas is coming in half an hour, dinner and _Star Trek_ " he finally summarized his plans for the night.

"I'd better let you go, then. Wouldn't want you to be late for your date," Sam teased him. He had made comments like this for years every time Dean told him he was going to meet Cas, but in the last few months they had had a certain edge to them that Dean didn't understand. Surely Sam had nothing against Dean's best friend? He'd known him almost as long as Dean had, and they had always gotten along great.

"Talk to you soon, Sammy," he answered and hung up. He got in his car and smiled as he drove off, listening to his Baby's purring.

Sam Winchester was a patient man. Or at least he had always been more patient than other members of his family.

But his brother was currently pushing his limits, and had been doing so for quite some time.

Dean was smart; he was a good, caring, gentle man who deserved everything life could give him. He had practically raised Sam after their father decided the only way of dealing with their mother's death was through a bottle. Bobby had helped a lot, of course, and Sam saw him as more of a father figure than their actual dad, but it was Dean he had always come to when he needed help, wanted to play or felt alone. And Dean had always done his best.

So Dean deserved the best.

But the life Dean was leading was not the best he could have, no matter how deeply convinced he was of that.

He was working in their father's garage, and although he was the owner, Dad wouldn't allow him to change a thing about it or advertise his skills. He had had dreams of going to college and studying restoration, but had been quick to accept that he wasn't smart enough for it because Dad said so. He waited for Sam to call because he didn't want to trouble him, although Sam had tried to tell him again and again that he loved hearing from his big brother.

And then there was Cas.

He and Dean he had been best friends since they had met in high school; at fifteen, Cas had been the school loner, highly intelligent but considered weird because he took everything literally and had little knowledge of pop culture, while Dean had been the popular jock who had dated almost every girl in his year and hidden his nerdy hobbies, smart brain, and big heart under their dad's leather jacket. They'd run into each other – literally – Dean had helped Cas pick up his books and that had been it. They had somehow formed a connection and had been best friends by the end of the day.

They still were best friends. And that was the problem.

Well, not that they were friends, obviously. But that they weren't _more_ was something Sam couldn't understand.

He'd known for a long time Cas had feelings for Dean, right from the beginning of their friendship, and had also known for just as long that his brother was bisexual. There were only so many times he could watch Dean stare dreamily at the lead of _Doctor Sexy, MD_ or at Han Solo, turn his head when a guy walked past, or get flustered when a good-looking man approached him before he realized. Yet, in contrast to Cas, who had never made any attempt to hide his attraction to both men and women, Dean wouldn't admit it to anyone, least of all to himself.

Sam didn't care that Dean was bisexual, not at all. But he knew their dad would, and that it was for this reason, more than anything else, that Dean would never even consider that he was actually attracted to Doctor Sexy or that he had feelings for Cas.

And because of this, he would pass up the best chance he would ever have of being happy.

Sam put his phone down with more force than strictly necessary and groaned just as his girlfriend passed him on the way to make more coffee – since she was studying for her last exam as well, albeit in medicine, she knew they both needed it.

"Everything alright?" Jess asked, starting the coffeemaker.

"Dean. He's spending the evening forcing Cas to watch Star Trek again".

"But that's a good thing. Anything might happen" she assured him.

"Nothing _will_ happen" he emphasized.

"You don't know that. Remember when I first met them?"

Sam smiled as he recalled Thanksgiving, three years ago. Jess had immediately taken a liking to Dean and Cas and inquired quietly, when they had a moment to themselves, why Sam hadn't told her about his brother's relationship. The answer to that had been that there was none to begin with, and he'd needed half an hour to convince her that he had not thought her homophobic and judgemental at all, and that Dean being single was the real reason for his silence.

Ever since then, Jess had kept her faith that Dean would one day see the light and actually end up happy with Cas, a faith Sam had lost long ago. Now and then it was nice to hear her optimism, though, especially during stressful times like these.

So he simply accepted the cup of coffee she gave him and concentrated on his studies. Dean and Cas would spend a pleasant evening together, at least.

Cas was punctual, as always. In all the years Dean had known him, he had never been late without a good reason.

Dean had already started on the burgers. Cas let himself in with the key Dean had given him after he'd grown too lazy to constantly open the door for his best friend.

"Hello, Dean," Cas said as he strolled into the kitchen, still wearing his suit and tie.

"Hey, Cas," Dean replied, glancing at him. His tie was askew as always when he didn't happen to stay at Dean's or vice-versa and he couldn't tie it properly for him in the morning, and he smiled.

"Don't say it," Cas grumbled, loosening it.

"How was the rest of your day?" Dean inquired. Cas huffed.

"The dean seems to think religious studies are not worth their budget."

He'd heard that story since Cas had started studying religion, but he still listened patiently. It wasn't like he had anything interesting to tell him about _his_ day.

"I was the only one – once again, I might add – defending our department, and he simply sighed and said something along the lines of, "It's always you who complains," and I told him that I would continue until things changed, and – "

While he ranted, Dean took special care with the burgers so that Cas would at least get a decent meal after an annoying day, and his best friend's smile told him that he'd accomplished that mission. It was when Cas asked him how things were going, which meant he wanted to talk about the garage and bills and changes, that Dean's good mood evaporated.

"Okay," he said with an air of finality. When Cas' only answer was silence, he sighed and continued, "I got work. I had Rufus' car today, plus the other one I was working on, and some guy came in. No problem, fixed that in ten minutes. See? Busy."

"But you could do with more business," Cas replied. It was an understatement, but Dean didn't comment on it. "I'm sure more people would come in if you modernized the garage and advertised – "

"And what am I supposed to advertise?" Dean asked. "You know I only did the bare minimum to get my ASE. And Dad doesn't want me to make any changes".

The garage might have been his – he still suspected that Bobby had kept nagging at Dad until he gave it over to him – but there was rarely a day when his father didn't show up to make sure he wasn't doing anything he didn't approve of. Today had been an exception, and he didn't want to think about where he might be.

He didn't mention that, even if he had been willing, he had no money to modernize. It would only end with Cas offering him some, stating that he had more than he needed anyway, and a fight that would leave them angry and resentful for days. They'd been down this road too often for him to want a repeat.

"It's not like you can't do more. I'm sure you would succeed no matter what further qualifications you pursued," Cas said softly, touching his hand, and Dean knew that he was thinking, just like himself, about a fifteen-year-old who told his new friend about restoration, how wonderful it was to see a car rise from the ashes to return to the beauty it had been before.

He had long ago realized that he was too dumb to even contemplate getting any kind of degree, so he shook his head.

Cas looked pained, but said nothing as he withdrew his hand. They had always known when to be silent around each other.

They watched the movies quietly, the presence of his best friend and the familiarity of the _Star Trek_ universe comforting Dean.

Still, he felt on edge even the next day, as he worked on a car that had thankfully decided to stop working right in front of the garage that morning. The owner had looked somewhat suspiciously at the old decor, but had left when it became clear Dean knew what he was doing.

When the door opened, he expected it to be his dad, but instead he found Bobby.

"Hey, boy."

"Hi Bobby."

Bobby came by a few days a week for a chat and coffee. His scrap yard was only a few streets away, which was practical if Dean needed normal, not out-of-they-way-having-to-order-them-because-it's-a-European-car spare parts.

Bobby looked uncomfortable, and Dean already knew what he was going to say.

"Your dad showed up last night. He's sleeping it off on my couch."

He didn't have to specify what "it" was, and Dean nodded.

"Thank you for taking care of him."

Bobby shook his head, being as uncomfortable to accept thanks as Dean usually was. He looked at his boy in his mechanic getup, looking tired and worn-down, and thought how he'd much rather have punched John Winchester in the face last night than offer him a place to stay, but he didn't say it out loud.

They drank coffee as Dean filled him in on the business he didn't have and Bobby listened, wishing that he'd taken the boys from John when they had been younger. But he'd thought they were better off with a father, and now Dean was – well, not exactly unhappy. But this was a far cry from what he could be doing.

When he left, Dean hugged him, another way of saying thanks, and he returned home to see that John had left in his absence. Remembering how tense Dean's shoulders had been, he hoped he didn't make the mistake of showing up at the garage hung over.

Dean didn't understand why he felt so twitchy. The talk with Cas hadn't been the first of its kind, and would certainly not be the last. He simply thought too much of him. So why was he so tense? Yes, business could be better, but he was used to it.

It was really not a good time for his father to come in. Which, of course, meant that he did.

"Dean."

He never really greeted him when he strolled into the garage he still saw as his own, only said his son's name and started inspecting the place.

For some reason, it riled Dean up. Normally, he didn't think about it, continuing his work and barely paying attention to his dad, but today he stood transfixed as he carefully looked over the garage as if Dean would have been capable of tearing it down during the one day he hadn't been there.

Because he'd been getting drunk.

Dean's jaw clenched. _His_ place. Dad had given him the garage, it was his. And ever since he had turned eighteen and finished school, Dean had done most of the work anyway.

Suddenly, he was angry. It was as if all the anger he had never allowed himself to indulge in when he had come home to find Sammy hungry and Dad drunk or when he'd mentioned that going to McPherson College was something he might be interested in and Dad had only laughed and told him to stick to what he knew (he'd been right, but that was no way of telling your son that he was too dumb for higher education), or when he'd thrown a fit because Dean had wanted to purchase a new desk, had come to the surface.

"Satisfied that everything's still falling into ruin because you won't allow me to buy a new chair, much less get the place fixed?"

He hadn't meant to sound this bitter; he hadn't meant to speak at all, but there was a lump in his throat and the words forced themselves out.

Dad, hung-over and angry, turned around and glared at him.

"What do you want, son?"

Again, he didn't want to answer. He was just going to go back to the car he was working on and forget about his dad standing in his garage, making it impossible for anything to change ever –

"How about you stop drinking for one moment and realize we don't live in the 80s anymore?"

He swallowed when he saw his father's face cloud with anger. When he'd been younger, this had always been the signal to get Sam to Bobby's.

He was no longer scared of his dad, but he still didn't want to see that look on his face.

"You won't talk to me like this. This ain't what I worked for."

"So you worked for a shop that would eventually crumble down, possibly trapping your son inside? Good job."

"Don't act all high and mighty. Even if I allowed you to do stuff, you'd never be able to. Sam's the smart one."

He was speaking the truth about that, at least, and Dean shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, giving his father time to continue.

"Which is why he won't come back. He'll settle down with that Jess girl and become a successful lawyer, and he'll forget all about you. Like everyone does. And no wonder, when I look at the pathetic loser who claims to be my son."

He stormed out, and Dean leaned against the wall, taking a few calming breaths. It wasn't the worst insult Dad had ever thrown at him, it was barely even an insult at all, and he knew that most of it wasn't true. Sammy wouldn't forget him. And it was ironic that Dad had suddenly decided to be proud of his son who studied law when he'd thrown him out of the house and told him to never come back when he'd told him Sam had said he was going to Stanford. It had been the reason for Dean to get an apartment so that Sam could stay at his place when he came to visit.

So then why was he feeling so bad about it? Maybe because "pathetic loser" wasn't such a bad description of him. He knew most people wouldn't think so, he had his own business and had managed to earn his ASE, but he was aware that he was dumb, obnoxious, and had little to show for it except for his brother and his best friend, who were kind enough to stick with his sorry ass.

He brought his hand up to his face and angrily rubbed a few tears away. He pushed away from the wall and went back to work, and for the first time the garage didn't comfort him.

He felt trapped.

Try as he might, he couldn't shake the feeling off in the weeks that followed. He was nervous and irritable, to a point that Sam noticed even though they only spoke for a few minutes every day, since his bar exam was coming closer and closer, and Cas brought him pie to the garage during his lunch breaks in an attempt to lift his mood.

He really didn't deserve him, Dean reflected over a forkful of delicious pie from the diner three streets away.

The pie might have helped a little, but it did nothing to ease the weight in his chest. Bobby made a habit of bringing him coffee – "Real one, not the stuff from your machine" – and even his father had taken the hint and simply looked around in silence before grumbling "Okay" to himself and leaving.

Dean hoped that it would pass. He was just feeling a bit under the weather, and he concentrated on work and the fact that Sam would come to visit soon, once he had passed his exam, to make him feel better.

It was on the last day of the three day long exam that Dean's prophesy of the garage crumbling and burying him underneath it came somewhat true.

In fact, it wasn't the ceiling or a wall that crumbled, but the plaster simply couldn't hold one of the nails used to keep an old drawer upright anymore and so the drawer came down.

Dean, who was in the process of taking out a wrench he needed, was only aware of a small breaking noise.

Then darkness.

Then nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam had not expected to leave the room after the last part of his exam with a feeling that he had made it, but he was certain that he had. He had never felt better after a test, neither at school nor at university, and he was sure that he would soon get his certificate.

He immediately took out his phone to inform Jess and Dean and anyone else he could think of when he saw that he had several missed calls, from his girlfriend as well as from Bobby and Cas. His heart started beating wildly. They had known that they wouldn't be able to reach him and yet they had tried. Something must be wrong, terribly wrong.

 _And Dean hadn't called._

He was already dialling Bobby's number, mentally apologizing to Jess, because if it was indeed as he feared it was probable that Bobby knew more about what had happened. He picked up on the first ring.

"What's going on?" he demanded immediately.

"It's Dean," Bobby answered, the, paused.

"What? Is he alright? Bobby!" A few other candidates passed him and shot him strange looks, but he didn't care.

"He – there's been an accident. A drawer fell down on him – he's in the hospital. Me and Cas are there now, waiting for news –"

If he meant the drawer Sam was thinking of, the big old one in which Dean kept his heavy tools –

He swallowed and said, "I'm coming."

"Jess said she'd book a ticket for you."

At the mention of his girlfriend, Sam, even though he wanted to stay on the phone with Bobby until he reached Lawrence, knew he had to hang up and call her, so he did.

After having already worked in hospitals during her studies, she was calm, although he could hear a hint of fear in her voice.

"Your flight leaves in two hours," she informed him.

"Thanks, Jess."

"I wish I could come with you, but – " She stopped and he could hear her breath hitch; she was close to tears for worry for Dean and guilt at not flying with him because her own exam was only a week away.

He assured her that he understood, later unable to remember what he had said exactly.

Most of the remaining day – rushing to their apartment, finding his things already packed, kissing Jess goodbye and promising to call as soon as he knew more, talking to Cas on the way to the airport, them attempting to comfort each other, the flight, getting into a taxi and telling the driver to hurry, barely taking the time to get his suitcase and paying him and all but racing to the hospital's reception desk – blurred together.

It was when he arrived at the waiting room that time seemed to slow down.

Cas and Bobby were sitting on uncomfortable plastic chairs. The mechanic seemed to have aged several years since Sam had seen him last, and Cas all but disappeared into his trench coat. They both smiled when they saw Sam, however. Bobby even asked how his exam had gone, but he waved all questions away.

"How's Dean?"

"We don't know," Bobby admitted. "The damn drawer was heavy, it's a miracle it didn't crush his chest completely, and he hasn't woken up. That's all they've told us."

So it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Sam clung to the thought as Cas squeezed his shoulder, offering silent comfort. He only now realized what Cas must be going through. He wanted to offer him support, but when he turned to look at him, Cas only squeezed his shoulder again and gave him a smile that was supposed to be encouraging but didn't hide the panic in his eyes.

Later, after a phone call to Jess, who was just as worried as rest of them, and Cas had offered to get them coffee and left for the vending machine a few corridors down, Sam noticed that someone was missing. He would have felt ashamed, but the person he was looking for had been flittering in and out of their lives since Dean was four and he was six months old, so he wasn't surprised it had taken him this long to miss him.

"Dad?"

"I left him some messages. Cas tried to reach him, too. Rufus is canvassing the bars as we speak." Rufus would know where John liked to drink; he had helped carry him home often enough. Sam shook his head as he thought bitterly that their dad couldn't even be bothered when Dean – when Dean –

The reality of what was happening suddenly crashed down on him and when he came to, he was sitting on the floor, hyperventilating, Bobby rubbing his back.

"Sam?" Cas came back, coffee in hand. "Do you need me to get a doctor?"

He shook his head. He needed to be strong. He couldn't freak out. Dean needed him.

It was another hour before Dad stumbled into the corridor, followed by a frowning Rufus.

"I called Sheriff Mills," he said. "She was nice enough to send a cop to help. He found him at the bar on Kansas Street."

Sam reminded himself to thank Jody when he saw her next. She was sure to be at Bobby's one day or the other for dinner; they had grown rather close during the last few months, perhaps closer than Dean had told him considering the blush on Bobby's cheeks that immediately disappeared as he looked at John.

"Does he know?"

"I told him. Don't know if he got what I was saying."

"I'm right here," John grumbled, "An' I do understand when you talk about my own damn son, thank you very much." He noticed Sam. "Why are you here? Don' you have a big exam or something?"

Sam felt his temper flare up, but took a few deep breaths.

"Yes, Dad. I finished today. Then I saw that everyone had been trying to reach me, so I called Bobby and took the next flight."

Dad only now seemed to become aware of how tense and worried they all were and supplied, "I'm sure he's okay. Drawer wasn't that heavy. Should be able to take it."

"He should have been able to get rid of it years ago. Then this wouldn't have happened."

They all turned to look at Cas. He had barely spoken since Sam had arrived, but now he was talking, levelling his icy gaze on John. Sam knew that Dean's best friend and their father had never liked each other, but Cas had never shown anything but courtesy when interacting with him. But this time, he was furious and scared, and as he moved towards John, Sam wondered if he was going to hit him.

To his shame, he had to admit that he wouldn't have attempted to stop him.

But Cas didn't resort to violence. He didn't need to. He continued to speak, each word sharp enough to pierce even his father's thick skin.

"You haven't allowed him to change as much as a nail in the wall. You constantly control the garage to make sure Dean's workspace is as dilapidated as possible, you put him down and now, when he needs his family more than ever, you come here drunk and tell us he's going to be okay because he 'should be able to take it.' I advise you to stop talking."

Then he simply turned around and sat down on a chair again as if nothing happened.

None of them spoke, but it was clear that Bobby and Rufus approved of Cas' words as much as Sam did. Dad, for once, didn't fight, just stood there looking stupidly at Cas, swaying lightly before letting himself fall on the chair that was the farthest from his.

They had to wait another hour before the doctor, a friendly black man, came out.

"Family of Dean Winchester?"

They stood up, Sam nodding eagerly.

"I am Doctor Allan Dansley. Dean suffered a contusion of his chest, and he is still unconscious. Other than that, there seems to be no physical injury except for cuts and bruises – his brain scan shows no damage."

The relief Sam felt made him weak in the knees, and he was thankful when he felt Cas and Bobby move closer.

Dad was standing a little apart from them, staring at the doctor as if he didn't exactly understand what was going on, but once he did, he said, "Told you so", which Sam overheard.

"When is he going to wake up?"

"We don't know, but we expect it to be soon."

Their relief could almost be felt physically, and he excused himself for a moment to call Jess. She picked up on the first ring. He shared the good news and smiled at the sound of joy she emitted.

"A chest contusion isn't that bad – he'll have troubled moving and maybe breathing for a few days or weeks, and he'll complain a lot, but there shouldn't be any problems," she was quick to assure him, giving him more much-needed comfort.

"Call me as soon as he wakes up," she begged at the end of their talk, and he assured her that se would.

"How are you?" he asked finally, feeling guilty for not having done so before.

She sighed. "I can't concentrate. I was about to give up and buy a plane ticket when you called, to be honest."

He told her that Dean wouldn't forgive her if she interrupted her studies because of him; it was true, but that didn't mean that either of them agreed with it. Now that she knew his injuries weren't as severe as she had feared, however, she promised she would try to calm down and study.

He went back to his family – blood as well as other – with a smile on his face. Dean was going to be fine. Sure, he had a contusion. But it would heal. Dean would heal. He just had to wake up. Maybe he'd already tell Sam off tomorrow because he hadn't celebrated with his friends after his exam and returned later this week, as he had originally planned.

His friends, he suddenly thought. He hadn't informed them – Brady, Zack, Becky – and yet they hadn't tried to reach him. _Jess_ , he realized with a smile. His girlfriend had taken care of everything while he'd barely been able to think straight. No wonder she and Dean liked each other so much. They were both incredibly selfless.

As he came back, the others were not where he had left them, but Bobby soon exited a room at the end of the corridor and waved him over.

"The doctor allowed us to see him. Rufus is gonna take John home afterwards."

Sam nodded gratefully.

Bobby chuckled. "When we got the news, Cas offered to look for you, but I knew you'd reappear soon and that he wanted to see Dean more than anything."

They smiled at one another before entering Dean's room, understanding each other without words.

Cas was hovering at Dean's bed, as they had known he would, while John was getting ready to go, Rufus barely speaking to him as he took his arm and started dragging him towards the door.

"Can walk on my own," he mumbled, standing still when he saw Sam.

"You call me when he wakes up," he ordered, and Sam clenched his teeth and nodded, telling himself that he was the one to decide when his father would be informed.

Then John and Rufus were gone and the atmosphere relaxed notably. Cas wanted to stand up, but Sam shook his head and allowed him to stay in the seat closest to Dean's bed.

They waited.

And waited.

After two hours, nothing had changed and Sam thought that the doctor was starting to look worried.

After four hours, he no longer had any doubts that he was.

In the evening, long after Sheriff Mills had come to visit and stroked Dean's hair, pulled his bed sheets down and done everything their mother would have (Sam felt a short, sharp pain at the thought) as well as having kissed Bobby on the cheeks, causing him to blush again, the doctor looked grave and told them they had to do more tests. He advised them to go home for the night.

They rejected the idea, but soon afterward, Cas, who'd had to get up early that morning and had a lecture tomorrow morning, as well started to fall asleep in his chair. After a long discussion, he agreed to have Bobby take him home, the old mechanic only promising to get some rest himself after Sam swore he would keep him posted on any little change in Dean's condition.

It was a long night. Occasionally, he got texts from Jess or Bobby, who both tried their best to sleep but couldn't; Cas, who had simply been exhausted from his day and the worries he had brought, seemed to be the only one who got some rest.

He and Dad, but he barely counted.

Sam tried his best to remain optimistic. He knew no one as stubborn as Dean. His brother would wake up and be fine just because he willed himself to be.

Just as the sun was rising, Sam, who had dozed off, was suddenly woken up by the feeling that something in the room had moved.

That something was Dean; he was definitely moving his left hand and groaning, even if he hadn't opened his eyes yet.

Sam quickly pressed the call button for the nurse and reached over to take his brother's hand.

"Dean?" he asked urgently. "Dean?"

His green eyes opened slowly and Sam breathed a long sigh of relief. He smiled brilliantly.

His smile dropped when Dean frowned, pulled his hand away and asked in a flat voice, "Who are you?"


	3. Chapter 3

He came to slowly. It was as if he was drifting in deep, dark water; he could hear sounds, but they were muffled, and he had trouble breathing, although not enough to freak out. But shouldn't he be freaking out about this?

Confused, he tried to move and groaned when pain shot through his head.

Almost immediately, someone grabbed his right hand.

"Dean?" Who was Dean? "Dean?"

He opened his eyes and was confronted with a giant looking at him with big eyes and grinning like a maniac.

Unusual sight to wake up to.

He would rather not be cuddled by someone he didn't know, so he pulled his hand away and asked, "Who are you?"

The man's face fell so quickly that he actually felt bad. He looked like someone had kicked his puppy. No, scratch that; with those eyes, he looked like a puppy that had been kicked.

"It's me, Sam" the man said. He was obviously trying to stay calm.

"Sorry, doesn't ring a bell."

"Dean –"

"And who's Dean, anyway?"

The man moved backwards as if he'd taken a swing at him. The door opened and a nurse appeared.

His visitor turned around and told her, "He doesn't remember anything" in a panicked voice.

The nurse studied Sam for a moment before stepping up to his bed and checking his vitals. She then asked, "Can you tell me your name, sir?"

He was amused that a woman who was clearly in her forties would call him "sir" when he was –

He realized he didn't know how old he was and started to panic.

Then he realized he didn't know his name and _really_ started to panic.

If he hadn't been exhausted from a day that had begun with a lecture at seven am (that had escalated into a long-drawn discussion between a conservative Christian and a liberal student until Cas had put a stop to it) and had progressed steadily until midday when Bobby had called him, his voice shaking and he knowing right off that something had happened to Dean, he would have insisted on staying the night at the hospital.

But he had spent the afternoon alternating between worry, hope, anger at John Winchester and –

And Love for Dean.

He had long ago realized that he couldn't ignore how he was feeling towards his best friend, no matter that Dean would never reciprocate. Cas had acknowledged that he was in love with him shortly after they'd finished school and had been trying to move on since then, dating both men and women, but there had never been as strong a connection as with Dean.

He had barely been able to form a thought as he had told Balthazar, the professor he was closest to, that he had to leave and driven himself to the hospital. He didn't remember much of the drive. Dean was injured. Dean was in the hospital.

Bobby had been there when he arrived, looking like he carried the world on his shoulders. Cas quickly forced himself to stay calm as he approached, trying to offer comfort which the older man gladly accepted.

Cas then knew how worried he was. Bobby wouldn't have liked to be "coddled" if he hadn't found Dean; if he hadn't seen with his own eyes...

He didn't describe what he had seen, and Cas was grateful even as he felt ashamed that he couldn't even bear to hear what had happened. He knew that a drawer had fallen on Dean, and he knew which one, and it was enough that many horrifying scenarios had already fluttered through his mind.

He had joined Bobby's efforts in calling Sam, and when that hadn't brought any results, as they had known it wouldn't, the older man had called Jess while Cas had informed Balthazar, as he had promised he would (at least he thought he had as he ran past him).

Eventually, Sam called and told them he was coming. The flight alone took over four hours, so Cas expected him in by six at the earliest, but it would be a comfort for Dean to know his brother was going to arrive soon. Because of course he would wake up before that.

When the waiting became too much and Cas was about to beg the doctors and nurses to tell him something, anything, he excused himself and went to call Gabriel. His brother could be annoying, but he was also the one Cas had run to in bad times since he could walk.

"How nice to hear from you, little brother" he drawled into the phone, and Cas remembered that they hadn't talked in two weeks, but he didn't have the strength to discuss it.

"Gabriel – " he said. "Dean – "

He was aware that he sounded almost as shaky as Bobby had.

Normally when he mentioned his best friend, Gabriel, who knew about his feelings and was mysteriously convinced that Dean was "just in the closet, wait and see" would make a joke, but this time he began asking questions.

"What's wrong?"

Cas told him. He was glad that Bobby wasn't there to hear him; he sounded panicked.

Gabriel did his best to soothe him, although he was obviously concerned as well; despite declaring the opposite, he'd always had a soft spot for Dean.

"You know Dean. He'll pull through and then he'll wake up and scream at you for fussing."

Cas couldn't help but think this amusing.

After the talk with his brother, he felt better, calmer, and was able to sit down next to Bobby without springing up again in a moment. He was currently trying to find John Winchester, but it wasn't easy; apparently he wasn't in one of his usual haunts, and Cas bit his lip, keeping his opinion to himself.

He didn't like John Winchester. The antipathy was mutual. He had never understood how someone like him deserved sons like Sam and Dean. And he desperately wished that John didn't have that big of an influence on Dean. He had belittled him until his best friend had come to believe that he was a grunt who would never achieve anything and was lucky that he could work in a dilapidated garage.

Dean would have done great in college, or in any other career he would have decided to pursue. Cas and Sam agreed on this, but Dean would just laugh it off if they told him.

Dean didn't admit to liking _Doctor Sexy_ or that he actually enjoyed pop music. He never said anything that could imply he was even the least bit critical of his father, or that he was in any way a better man than John Winchester ever would be.

He couldn't see his own worth, and Cas hated it.

And now he was in the hospital because John wouldn't allow him to make any changes, not even to ensure his safety.

Sam's arrival was a welcome respite from his worry and anger, but he couldn't help but notice that Dean hadn't woken up and that they had only learned the barest minimum from the doctors; they didn't know everything yet.

So when John Winchester finally stumbled in, Cas couldn't hold back. At least he didn't hit him.

And then they continued to wait.

Cas wanted to stay, desperately wanted to stay. But he could barely sit up when Bobby dragged him out, and he fell asleep as soon as he was in the car.

He vaguely remembered being shoved into his apartment and then the phone was ringing and he found himself lying face down on his bed, still in his clothes from yesterday.

The sun had risen, but not long ago.

It was Sam. This could only mean news. He picked up with a trembling hand.

"Dean's awake," Sam said without greeting, but Cas' joy at the news was checked by the fear his voice betrayed.

"What's happened?" he asked.

"He doesn't know who I am, Cas. He doesn't even know his own name."

The phone almost fell out of his hand. "What does that mean?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"He has amnesia or something – the doctor is with him now – we don't know – " he broke off.

"I'm coming," Cas said, as he always would when Sam or Dean called him.

On the way, he tried to call the university, but it was still too early, so he sent the secretary of the religion department an e-mail. He didn't know if he would make it to his two o' clock lecture. On the way to the hospital – Bobby had thankfully used Cas' car to bring him home last night – he constantly thought about Dean. He didn't remember his name. He hadn't recognized Sam.

He wouldn't know Cas.

It shouldn't have hurt as much as it did – Sam certainly had more right to be upset, he was his family. But he and Dean had been through much together since they had met fifteen years ago. Dean wondering if he should finish high school at all and then doing it, defying every teacher's expectations; Cas' college degree, Dean's ASE, Sam leaving for college, various breakups, countless movie marathons, dinners, parties –

It all meant nothing to Dean now because he couldn't remember.

But the doctor had said nothing was wrong with his brain, Cas reminded himself. Dean would remember soon. Maybe he already would have by the time Cas arrived.

He only had to take one look at Sam to know he hadn't.

"The doctors are doing all kinds of tests. Psychological as well as physical," he said. "The nurse sent me out after he woke up, and since then..."

Sensing his friend's distress, Cas inquired, "Have you informed Jess?"

He shook his head. "She should rest. Her exam..."

"You do realize what she will do to you if you don't call her this instant?" Cas asked. He didn't know Jess that well, since she didn't accompany Sam on all his visits, but he felt confident that she would be angry if Sam didn't call her now that Dean was awake.

Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"Suppose you're right," he said tiredly. "Be right back."

Cas hoped Jess could give him some hope. She was almost done with her studies and had already worked in hospitals; perhaps she could explain that this was normal, that they had nothing to worry about –

But Dean forgot Sam. _Sam_. The little brother he had more or less raised on his own.

If he could forget Sam...

"Saw the kid outside talking on his phone," Bobby said behind him and Cas turned around. Bobby looked as bad as he felt, but he smiled warmly at him.

"At least he's awake," the older man said, and Cas nodded.

But they looked at one another and felt that lying and saying that everything was alright wouldn't do them any good.

Bobby sighed.

"That damn drawer – I should have –" He trailed off, mumbling to himself, and Cas patted his shoulder. Bobby had done the best he could for Sam and Dean, convinced that it was better they had a father than taking them away from him completely.

It might have been a mistake, but it had been a very human one.

Bobby smiled softly at him and said, "He's lucky to have you."

Cas drew his hand back in surprise. Surely Bobby didn't think that...

"Don't blow a fuse, I was just saying he's lucky to have you. In _any_ way," he continued, and the emphasis made Cas painfully aware that he knew.

He didn't answer; thankfully Sam came back and spared him the necessity.

"Jess said it might just be a temporary confusion," he said. "She said he could remember any minute."

It wasn't really different from what they had already thought, but being told by someone studying medicine gave the news a more positive ring to it.

Once again, they settled down to wait, no one even having suggested that they call John.

He was really tired of all the stupid questions. For two hours now, they had poked at him and scanned him and questioned him and made him do maths problems and remember all kinds of stuff, from the date of Independence Day to the name of the president, and he wasn't in the least bit closer to making any sense of what was going on whatsoever.

He had woken up in a hospital. That was as far as he got when he tried to remember anything about himself. He came up with absolutely nada. Zero. Nothing. He was apparently called Dean Winchester since they'd told him he was, and the giant puppy in his room had been his younger brother Sam. No bells were ringing.

He wasn't even sure he felt like a Dean. Or that he particularly liked the name. He was sorry he'd freaked the guy out, though. If they were brothers, he must be really worried.

"Mr. Winchester, what's 23 times 37?"

That, too. Winchester. Who was named after a rifle? For all he knew, it was an alias and he was a secret agent or a criminal living under an assumed name.

"Mr. Winchester?"

He sighed, but did the math.

"851." The woman nodded and scribbled something on her pad. How much more did she need to ask to realize he wasn't an imbecile drooling on the floor but a normal guy whose memory was a bit scrambled?

"So? What's the diagnosis?" he asked impatiently. She looked at him and narrowed her eyes, and he felt slightly intimidated.

"It is not entirely uncommon for people with head injuries – and you are rather bruised, even if no further injury can be seen on the scan – to experience amnesia. Your memory might return any minute."

He nodded, feeling somehow sheepish because, while she had given him that look, she was still polite while he'd snapped on her and asked, "What's your name again?"

She'd told him but he'd been too busy freaking out to hear.

"Doctor Moseley. Let's get back to your room and call your family in. I'll tell you both the best and worst case scenarios here."

He nodded again. He'd definitely prefer to know everything that could be in store in for him. It was scary enough that he had more or less suddenly come to life in a hospital bed with no memory of the thirty years that had come before without knowing what could be wrong.

"Don't start asking questions right away," she warned him, pushing the wheelchair they had insisted on using to get him from one room to the other, even though as far as he could tell, there was nothing wrong with his legs. "I don't want your mind to be overwhelmed and you going into a seizure."

"May I still think?" he asked, but without an edge to it, and he knew that she understood he'd listen to her when she didn't reply.

As soon as they turned into the corridor his room was down, three people jumped up and wanted to rush towards him, but at a wave from Doctor Moseley, they stood still. One of them was the giant from his room, another was an older guy with a cap on his head who looked gruff but not unfriendly, and then there was a thirty-something old man with the bluest eyes he'd ever seen (considering he hadn't seen anything as far as he could remember, that didn't mean much, though) and dark hair in a rumpled suit who mustered him with open affection and worry.

Doctor Moseley brought him into his room and his bed, insisting he shouldn't strain himself before allowing the three in.

There were questions at the tip of his tongue, but he had the feeling Doctor Moseley would tear him a new one if he asked, so he amused himself with studying them and drawing his own conclusions.

The giant was his brother. He had no reason to doubt that. The older guy – he was hovering near the Sasquatch – no, Sam, he had to learn to address them with their proper names – and was obviously very concerned for both of their well-being. Not that he seemed to dislike the blue-eyed guy; he was just standing a little nearer Sam.

And the way he was looking at Dean – he looked like he was one step away from making chicken soup and forcing it down his throat. Relative. Definitely. Most likely his father. Otherwise he wouldn't be hanging around at this time of day. Could be an uncle, but dad was more likely, so he decided he'd believe that and let his gaze wander to the last guy.

When their eyes met, he felt a stirring in his gut. He didn't think they were related, or at least he didn't hope so; he was way too hot to be –

Oh. He hadn't paid attention to his sexual orientation yet. So apparently he was gay, or at least had a thing for dudes, too. Well. It wasn't like he particularly cared, but he would have liked to know who that guy was.

"I have examined Dean for an hour," Doctor Moseley began. "Of course this can only be a preliminary diagnosis". She waited for a moment before continuing, "This seems to be a case of dissociative amnesia. The patient remembers nothing about himself or the events in his life; however, his intelligence and general knowledge seem to be unimpaired."

"So he knows about the Boston Tea Party but doesn't remember us?" the old guy – yes, definitely his father, based on his expression – asked.

Dean smiled sheepishly, truly sorry that he was causing the man pain. He clearly cared a lot for him. "Sorry."

He moved forward and patted Dean's shoulder. "It's not your fault, son."

He knew it.

"Isn't dissociative amnesia caused by traumatic events, rather than physical injuries?" the guy in the trench coat inquired. _Way to be blunt_ , dude, Dean thought, but he didn't mind. At least he was getting some information. Maybe he was a doctor? But he wouldn't be waiting with his family if he was.

Doctor Moseley nodded. "There seems to have been a subconscious reaction to the trauma his body experienced, but frankly, I cannot say why. Was Dean different in the days before the accident? On edge, maybe nervous, unsatisfied with his life?"

Sam started squirming under Dean's scrutiny. So he was unsatisfied with his life. Not exactly the best news to wake up to. But at least he had a family.

"He was – nervous," the man in the trench coat finally said and Sam shot him a thankful look.

Seriously, who was this guy?

The older man hadn't moved from Dean's side. No matter what had happened that had triggered the amnesia, at least he had a good father. That was something.

Plus a really tall brother and a strangely direct blue-eyed dude.

And being dissatisfied wasn't that bad, he supposed. He could have woken up and found that he'd been a psycho killer or a drug addict.

He could still turn out to be those things, but it seemed unlikely.

"Sorry to interrupt your theorizing," he said, hopefully not sounding too unfriendly, "but who – "

"I'm your brother," Sam said eagerly, stepping forward. If he'd thought he'd looked like a puppy before, when he'd been sad, it was nothing compared to now when he was excited.

"I'm four years younger than you. We are very close. I was at university when it happened, but I came immediately – "

"Shouldn't you have been studying?"

He had no idea where that had come from. Maybe he was just taken aback by the giant advancing towards him talking rapidly despite Doctor Moseley's attempt to quietly shush him. Whatever the reason, Sam looked strangely both happy and regretful, and he quickly added, "I mean, I'm glad we are close. I really am." He was. He felt comfortable in Sam's presence. In fact, he felt comfortable with all of them, but somehow he was the calmest when he had his eyes on his brother – perhaps because they had grown up together and some part of his brain still knew.

Sam started smiling truly again, walked to his side and clapped the shoulder his father wasn't busy patting occasionally.

"You'll remember before you know it," he said, and then suddenly laughed. "And you just told me you're happy we're close. I'm using that against you until the end of time."

He heard Doctor Moseley voice her protest, but he shook his head at her, because Dean wasn't feeling the least bit dizzy or overwhelmed; he was just confused. What was so strange in saying he was glad for his good relationship with his brother?

He turned to the old man.

"Is he always that annoying, Dad?" he inquired in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere and soothe everyone's worries. He didn't want to be coddled like a child; he could take it. He felt great aside from the amnesia – okay, maybe not great, but at least functioning. And he was capable of rational thought.

It dawned on him that he had probably overestimated his ability of deduction when the hand that had been once more occupied patting his shoulder stilled, Sam swallowed loudly and the blue-eyed guy still stared at him.

He looked up and found the old man was mustering him with a mixture of – what was that? Heartbreak? Joy? He'd really prefer it if his family stuck to one emotion at a time.

He cleared his throat.

"I'm not your father, kid." If he noticed the contradictory nature of his statement, he didn't let it show.

"I'm Bobby Singer. Known you and your brother since you were children." He hesitated, wondering whether or not he should go on, looking at Doctor Moseley.

Maybe he didn't have any parents left. It would explain why an old family friend was standing here instead of them. He didn't feel any sense of loss when he contemplated being an orphan, but he didn't remember ever having had parents, so it wasn't surprising.

That wasn't his most pressing question right now, though.

"May I ask questions, Doctor Moseley?" he asked sweetly.

"Don't play coy with me. I came to observe," she answered.

"And what have you observed?"

"That you won't follow my orders, but at the same time, you are not overwhelmed. That's a good sign."

"And what if I had been?" Dean knew he probably shouldn't provoke his doctor, but his day had been a rather difficult one, so he felt entitled.

"Do you really think I don't know my job? I would have intervened," she said simply, and he believed her.

At least the awkward moment had passed and he smiled at Bobby and nodded.

"Hey, Bobby."

"Good to see you, boy," he replied automatically and Dean had the feeling that it was a normal greeting between them.

He then looked at his last visitor.

"Who are you?" he asked as gently as possible. He might not remember them, but that didn't mean he wanted to cause them pain, and it must be painful to hear someone important in one's life ask who one was.

The guy didn't seem in any way perturbed, however, but advanced and held out his hand. Dean looked at it a moment before he realized he wanted to introduce himself properly and shook his hand, feeling foolish.

"Hello Dean. I'm Castiel Novak."

"Like the angel?" he asked before he could stop himself. It was really weird, knowing stuff without remembering how. When he heard the name, the information just popped into his head.

Well, at least he didn't have to relearn everything from scratch.

When Dean asked if Cas was named after an angel, Sam's eyes shot to Cas. His friend was taken aback, so Dean had never told him that the day he'd met him and questioned him about his parents' life choices because who would burden their kids with that (and Cas had magically not exploded with anger) he'd went to the school library and borrowed anything he could find about angels.

It was when Sam had first realized that Dean really liked his new friend.

"Yes," he said gently.

"Angel of Thursday, solitude, and tears," Dean continued. Cas nodded.

Dean hadn't let go of his hand yet and he did now, blushing furiously.

Sam watched the scene unfold and looked at Bobby. They were obviously thinking the same. Without the filter of his memories and self-perception, Dean's attraction to Cas was far more obvious than it had been before.

It also confirmed his suspicions that Dean had liked Cas since high school.

"And you are..." Dean prompted and Cas, who had been studying his face, shook himself and answered, "Your best friend. We've known each other since we were fifteen."

He still always spoke of being such with certain awe in his voice, as if he couldn't quite believe that someone like Dean had chosen him to spend most of his time with. Sam looked out of the window to hide his smile.

Dean really, really tried not to be too glad that the guy wasn't a relative, but something about him just drew him in. Probably those eyes.

He could easily believe that they were best friends. Just Cas being in the room made him feel better. The same could be said for Sam and Bobby, but in a different way.

He was getting a small headache now, but was too curious to stop. Sadly, Doctor Moseley noticed.

"Okay, that's enough for now," she said, and Dean groaned. "But..."

"No buts. You still have a chest contusion, in case you haven't noticed, and we still don't know what made your mind reset, so to speak. You need rest".

"She's right, Dean," Cas said earnestly.

Dean was about to resign himself to rest when the door banged open and reminded him, when he tried to jump up, that he had a contusion and that a drawer had landed on his head and that both hurt.

The three men in his room crowded his bed in an instant, in an instinct to protect him, he realized, touched and guilty that he couldn't remember them, and Doctor Moseley approached the visitor standing in the doorway.

He was a man in his fifties, wearing a dirty t-shirt and jeans, looking like he'd slept in them. He hadn't shaved nor, as far as Dean could tell, showered, and he moved determinedly into the room when he saw Dean looking at him.

"Hey, son. All well again?"

He was friendly, if a little forceful – and maybe Dean only saw it that way because of his headache. He smiled. This was obviously another relative or close friend – after Bobby, he wouldn't take the "son" for proof anymore.

He didn't need to because Sam spoke.

"Dad – "

"See, Sammy, told you Dean was gonna be fine. He always is."

Yes, Sam thought bitterly, even growing up, Dean had always been fine because he had to be. Watch after Sammy, Dean. Help me out in the garage, Dean. Don't disappoint me, Dean. You know how hard it's been since Mum died.

It was strange to see Dean's reaction, noticing none of the pride Dad's words would have inspired normally and instead watching him tilt his head – not unlike Cas did when he was puzzled over something – and wait for him to continue.

It was clear that Dad was unsettled. Dean should have answered "Thanks" and beamed like he always did, promised that he would be back in the garage before the week was out, no matter how unrealistic it was, but he hadn't. He had obviously taken Dad's words as a relieved comment, not to be taken seriously, and was patiently waiting for the visitor to add anything to it.

This really shouldn't have given Sam as much glee as it did. Critical as he was of his father, he still loved him and often wished he could think better of him; and this was no exception. But Dad wanted his good little soldier to be just that, and Dean couldn't be. Not this time.

"Ahem..." Dad began and cleared his throat.

"Dean has amnesia," Sam ejaculated, unable to hold back any longer in a mixture of amusement, worry, shame, and fear. Dad slowly looked from one of them to the other, his eyes eventually landing on Doctor Moseley.

"What does this mean?"

"It means," she told him in an icy tone, "that Dean can't remember anything from his life, although his learning and intelligence are unimpaired."

Dad needed a few moments to process this, then he advanced towards Dean, raising a hand, letting it drop.

"John Winchester. I'm your father," he informed him, as if he expected him to remember as soon as the fact dropped from his lips, but Dean only shot Sam an amused look.

"I guessed as much. Hey, Dad."

It sounded normal enough for Dad to get his bearings, but he still didn't know what to say.

He eventually settled on, "How are you feeling?" and Sam remembered how he had never asked Dean this question before without knowing that he would get the answer, "Fine."

Dean shrugged, then frowned. Clearly he was in worse pain than he had been in before and needed medicine, and when Sam turned to ask, Doctor Moseley was already leaving the room, apparently intent on telling someone.

Dean smiled as he answered, though. "Okay, I guess. My chests hurts a little, I'm getting a headache, and the whole amnesia thing sucks, but I suppose it could have been worse". Doctor Moseley had told him that a heavy drawer had fallen on him. It definitely could have been worse.

He didn't notice his father's shoulders stiffening in surprise, or the looks his other visitors threw each other. He didn't know that this was a behaviour he had never shown before.

Cas felt his heart swell with pride, despite the situation. Dean had admitted that he wasn't feeling well. He had hoped he'd one day be open and honest about his health and mental state for years. This reaction proved that he wasn't naturally reluctant to talk about it; he had simply conditioned himself not to be. Maybe he could unlearn it once he got his memory back –

Suddenly the fear that Dean never would get his memory back surged through him. Until this moment he hadn't considered the possibility that Dean might never recover.

That his Dean, the Dean he knew, the Dean he'd spent countless hours of his life with, his best friend, the man he –

The man he loved might be dead.

He could see that the thought hadn't yet struck Sam and Bobby and he was grateful for that. Perhaps the reason was Doctor Moseley's quiet confidence; or that the idea was simply too awful to contemplate.

It was clear, painfully so, now that he could watch the scene under this aspect, that this wasn't his Dean. There was none of the recognition and joy he would have shown at having him, Sam and Bobby in the room with him, no deference to his father (Cas might have been grateful for that, but it was more evidence that Dean wasn't well) and the slight curiosity one exhibited towards strangers.

Strangers. It was all they were to him.

A shiver ran down Cas' spine.

"Oh. I'm – sure you'll feel better soon," John said, stumbling through the unusual conversation with his son.

Bobby really wished he wouldn't find this whole damn talk as funny as he did. This was no time to laugh with Dean's memories all scrambled, but he had spent years trying to talk John into behaving somewhat like a father and seeing it was – well –

It also distracted him from Dean having him called Dad before, and him realizing how much he'd like it if it were true.

Anyone would be glad to have sons like Sam and Dean, anyone would be bursting with pride. Anyone except John Winchester apparently, because he was more confused than worried and Bobby wanted to punch him.

Not an unfamiliar feeling.

The door opened and a young nurse came in to administer pain medication and tell everyone, in a voice that brooked no argument, that Dean needed rest.

Sam eagerly promised that he'd come back in the afternoon, and when they saw his eyes linger on them, Bobby and Cas did as well.

Dean told them all goodbye, but while his words to them and his brother held warmth, it was subtly but noticeably lacking when he talked to John.

Bobby tried not to read too much into it. He failed.

Once they were gone and the nurse had bustled out with the information that she would soon check in on him, Dean let himself sink into his pillows, somewhat relieved to finally be alone.

This was... a lot to take in. He'd had an accident and had stumbled into the world as a newborn would. Well, a newborn who didn't need diapers and could actually communicate with others, thank God.

And there was this family at his bed, anxiously waiting for him to get better.

It wasn't that he didn't like them. On the contrary. Sam didn't just look like a puppy, but acted like one too, all caring and adorably confused. Bobby was a pretty good father figure... more so than his actual father, who'd only asked questions while being embarrassed, if he was being honest. Cas was a good friend, by the looks of it, and Dean shoved the strange feeling welling up in his breast as far away as he could. Cas had said they were best friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

While he was on the subject, the nurse who'd given him the medication was pretty cute, so he figured he was bisexual. Not that it mattered right now, but it was nice to know. It was nice to know anything about himself.

So what did he know?

He had a pretty nice family by the looks of it, one who cared a lot about him, and none of them seemed particularly dumb or prone to take anyone's bullshit, so he assumed he was a good guy, too. He'd have to wait and see, of course, but evidence pointed to it.

What was he doing with his life? Had he gone to college? His hands looked like those of a blue-collar worker, but from Doctor Moseley's questioning, Dean was aware that he knew a lot of stuff. Apparently he could even quote Vonnegut (although he still insisted that there was nothing particularly striking about "So it goes"). His intelligence was above average, as the doctor had put it.

What if he never remembered, he thought suddenly. What if he never knew who he was? What if his old self had simply disappeared, never to return?

He felt panic rise in him, until this moment kept at bay by his surprise of being in hospital and not remembering anything, by tests and visits.

He had simply been thrown into a world he no longer recognized, into a life he knew nothing of. Was he expected to live it like he had before, when he couldn't?

It was a good moment for the pain medication to kick in, and he registered the pain and his panic dulling as he started to get drowsy.

He'd take it one step at a time, he decided, already half-asleep. Maybe everything would be back by the time he woke up.

Maybe. Hopefully.


	4. Chapter 4

An all but sleepless night and the stress of the last few days were finally catching up with Sam, and Cas automatically offered to drive him to Dean's apartment to get some rest. Regrettably, it wasn't a good idea to have John and Sam stay in the same place during an already emotional time.

The younger Winchester agreed immediately, his eyes already half closed, and John, who was still struck by the change of his elder son's personality, let himself been taken home with Bobby, who had apparently decided that it was best he keep an eye on him.

Cas had only time for a quick thankful look as he steered a half-conscious Sam to his car.

He didn't say anything as he collapsed into the back seat, and Cas was glad to be alone with his thoughts.

The uneasiness that he had experienced in Dean's room hadn't abated.

They hadn't gotten Dean back and he desperately needed him; needed him in whatever way he could have him. He was selfish, awfully so, but he needed Dean. He had always needed Dean, ever since they had become friends, and until the accident he'd had the comfort that Dean needed him as well.

He didn't anymore. He didn't need them at all because he couldn't remember why. He didn't remember raising Sam or studying with Cas; he didn't remember fixing cars with Bobby.

He didn't remember himself.

Sam slept soundly all the way to Dean's apartment. Cas shook him awake after they had arrived and he stumbled blindly up the stairs; Cas quickly guided him to the guest room he always used when he visited.

"Cas?" he mumbled, clearly more asleep than awake.

"Yes?"

"I don't want to lose my brother".

He sounded like a child. All Cas could do was tuck him in and say, "You won't," although he couldn't be sure. But if the white lie made Sam feel better, it was worth it. Dean wasn't there to look after him; they had to do what he would have done, and that meant assuring that his sleep was restful and undisturbed.

After having seen to Sam, he made himself coffee. Dean wouldn't have had anything against it. They both had keys to the other's apartment and moved in them with the same familiarity.

Dean would no longer.

Cas chastised himself for his worries. Dean wasn't gone. They had no proof that the amnesia would be permanent. Doctor Moseley didn't seem to think so, and he didn't have any brain injuries. His memories were still there, he just couldn't access them for the time being.

Cas looked at his watch. He could have made it to his lecture at 2 pm, but even though he had slept through the night, he still felt tired.

He called his department. Rachel, the secretary, was helpful as always and didn't complain when he told her that he wouldn't be in today and that his lectures would be taken care of by Balthazar.

Afterwards, it dawned on him that he should tell Balthazar that he was expected at 2 pm, and he shook his head at himself as he dialled. Thankfully his friend was more than capable of holding his lectures. They had worked on several research projects together.

"Cassie," he drawled into the phone. "How's Dean?"

Cas quickly filled him in, and Balthazar jumped to the right conclusion.

" _The Supreme Court and Religious Issues in the United States_ at two, right?"

"Thank you," Cas replied.

"Please, it's no problem. You're lucky Spring Break's coming up, no one will have to cover for you then."

He'd almost forgotten that next week was free, but he was glad for it. He could concentrate on helping Dean –

If he wanted his help. Maybe he'd rather have his brother around than a friend he didn't remember.

"Stop over thinking, I can hear you from here," Balthazar chastised him. "I'm sure he'll remember soon. That's the guy who still can't let go of me calling his car a '69 Impala five years ago."

It was true, and Cas chuckled, thanking Balthazar before hanging up. He decided to wait for Sam to wake up. He didn't want him to be alone.

He always kept a few spare clothes at Dean's apartment in case he fell asleep there and didn't have the time to return home before work, and he snuck into the bedroom before taking a shower.

He felt better afterward and made himself comfortable on the couch. The morning had taken quite a lot out of him as well, and he was soon lulled to sleep by the comforting surroundings.

He still woke up before Sam, who looked much younger than his twenty-six years buried in the duvet, and began preparing them a small meal. Neither of them would be much inclined to eat, but it was nearly three pm and they had to take some nourishment.

Sam stumbled into the kitchen shortly afterwards, eyes still blurry from sleep.

"Anything from the hospital?"

He shook his head.

"I'm sure Dean is resting."

Sam nodded and sat down. He looked somewhat doubtful at the meal Cas had swiftly thrown together, but Cas kept encouraging him until the younger Winchester began to eat. Not wanting to feel hypocritical, he forced his own portion down his throat.

After they had eaten, Sam, who he'd been expecting to jump up right away and go back to the hospital, kept staring at his plate.

"Cas, what I said earlier when you brought me to bed – your answer – you didn't really mean it, did you?"

Once again he sounded unbelievably young and Cas wondered if Dean always saw the little boy he'd been when he talked to him.

"I wish I could," he answered softly. "But not even the doctors know what caused the amnesia."

Sam nodded and looked up. Cas wasn't surprised to see his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"I meant it," he said softly. "I don't want to lose my brother. I can't. I know he thinks he's holding me back, that he's a grunt, that I'm the smart one who's going places and I'll leave him behind – but I never would."

"I know," Cas said firmly. He was certain that nothing would ever tear apart Sam and Dean; their brotherly bond was too strong.

"Look at me, telling you all about my problems" Sam chuckled, although it sounded hollow. "You've got to be scared of losing him, too".

"Of course. Dean is my best friend." And for a long time, until he'd gone to college, he'd been his only one.

"Cas –" Sam said and Cas froze. There could only be one reason for Sam to look at him like this. He had always done his best not to let his feelings show. He'd had to accept right from the start that Dean would never see him like that, would never reciprocate his affection, and he had continued to be the best friend he needed, ignoring his desire for more. He'd thought he'd been completely successful.

Apparently not, because Sam was about to speak and make him talk about his feelings, make him openly acknowledge them, which would lead to nothing but stress for both of them.

"Sam – "

"Cas – " he repeated, and he shook his head.

"Don't."

"But – "

"No. I realized a long time ago that Dean and I would only ever be friends, and that is all," he said with finality, and Sam looked down at his plate, rejected.

"Give me a minute and I'll be ready to go," Cas continued and turned around, mastering his emotions. He didn't want Sam to know that the talk, although it hadn't happened in the end, had shaken him. He really shouldn't be that moved by words that hadn't and would never be spoken.

It was just like Sam to worry about him when he was already concerned about his brother. In truth, he had more right to be scared. Cas' love was unwanted and unreciprocated, and more than that, it was a secret, although he was beginning to think it wasn't as well-kept as he had always believed.

He was here to support his best friend and his family, as he had always done, and that was it. He quickly retrieved his duffle bag he always kept at Dean's in case he stayed over from the guest room and changed his clothes.

The drive back to the hospital was quiet apart from Sam talking to Bobby on the phone.

"I see," he replied to something he'd said with contempt in his voice and Cas didn't have to ask what they were talking about.

"If he thinks it is for the best..." Still the same tone.

"Alright, we'll see you there."

He hung up and Cas didn't ask whether John was coming. It was obvious that he wasn't.

Considering Dean's reactions to them, it was perhaps for the best. Although it wouldn't help the instinct that had first identified Bobby as his father.

An instinct that Cas sadly had to conclude had been more right than they'd thought.

They knew each other too long to bother with platitudes, to tell Sam that their father had simply experienced a shock, that he would soon be ready to support Dean in case the amnesia lasted; so he said nothing and let the comforting silence, born out of years of being friends, speak for him.

They went to Dean's doctor first, even though they really wanted to see Dean himself. They had to know if the tests had brought any results, hoping against hope that the hospital had forgotten to call them.

He shook his head.

"The initial diagnosis stands: there is no organic cause for Mr. Winchester's amnesia. Doctor Moseley is with him as we speak."

As far as Cas could tell, Doctor Moseley was competent and would accept neither Dean's stubbornness nor the sulking that was sure to follow. It was good news.

A few feet from his door, they could already hear Dean ranting and carefully pushed it open as not to startle him.

"I mean, there's this whole freaking life I've lived, and I don't know a single thing about it! There's a family I assume I love and nothing rings a bell! How is that normal?"

"Mr. Winchester, not only is it very difficult to examine amnesia as a whole, but every case is different. I am not saying that your experience is normal – but neither is it strange. It is dissociative amnesia."

Their Dean would have gotten angrier, but this Dean simply calmed himself and said slowly, "Sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for. I know it's scary."

She was the first to see them.

"Mr. Winchester, Mr. Novak."

Dean looked up and threw them a brilliant smile as they approached, although because he was glad to see them or simply wanted a way out of the awkward conversation, Cas couldn't say.

Either way it looked enough like his normal grin to make his heart ache.

"Hello Sam, Cas," he said, then stopped. He frowned. "Sorry, man, don't know if you want me to shorten your name – "

"Of course" he said immediately. "It was you who first called me Cas to begin with."

"Okay then, Cas it is," he said, still smiling.

Cas didn't realize they were lost in each other's eyes until Doctor Moseley cleared her throat. He looked away and blushed.

"Dean, you are completely aware and conscious of your situation, but the amnesia shows no signs of abating. I will come back later to discuss treatment."

Dean nodded and wished her a polite goodbye.

When the door had closed behind her, Sam asked, "How are you feeling?"

"No real change from when you guys left. My brain's still all scrambled. The pain meds help, though." He paused.

"And they won't let me out of bed."

"A contusion is rather painful" Cas replied. "It's best if you rest."

"I know," Dean said, "but it's still annoying."

He looked from one of them to the other. They looked like they'd gotten some rest, at least, and Cas was wearing a t-shirt and jeans instead of the rumpled suit. The combination suited him. And he certainly looked cute when he blushed.

Friend, Dean reminded himself. Best friend.

Although he stared at him a lot.

"So – " he began. "Since Doctor Moseley seems to be confident my brain won't fry if I learn stuff, do you think we could – talk?"

He had ended more hesitantly than he had begun; one of the reasons was that he simply didn't want to bring them pain. And he knew that it would hurt him immensely if a member of his family didn't know who he was.

They smiled at him, a little unsure, but determined.

"Sure," Sam said. "What do you want to know?"

That was the difficult part. The simple answer would have been "Everything" but that would probably not help. He should have started asking about his family, but he was so curious about himself that he couldn't help it.

"What am I? I mean, what do I do?"

"You're a mechanic," Sam replied. "You took over Dad's shop three years ago."

"You're extremely capable," Cas supplied. "Everyone you've ever worked for has been impressed by your skills."

Dean was – he wasn't sure how he felt. Not exactly disappointed, but... surprised. He didn't feel like a mechanic. But repairing stuff, making old, useless cars beautiful again – he could get behind that.

"And I was in the shop when the drawer fell on me?"

Sam nodded.

"Well, I know what I'll be getting rid of the moment I step foot in the garage," he said lightly and was baffled at the reaction it received. Cas contended himself with a wide-eyed stare, but Sam actually took a step back.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asked worriedly.

"No," Sam hastened to assure him. "It's just – you're rather – "

"Attached to the old décor," Cas came to the rescue.

"Yeah, well, doubt I'll like the drawer much after it tried to kill me even when I remember."

This time, his attempt at making them laugh was successful.

"And what about you two?"

Sam immediately launched into an explanation of his studies at Stanford, and Dean was impressed. He certainly looked brainy, but a full ride? Pretty awesome. He also detailed his bar exam and it was only at the end of his rant, when he looked at Dean with wide, begging eyes, that he realized what his brother, most likely unconsciously, wanted.

"Don't look so scared. It's obvious you're a prodigy. You passed, I'm sure."

Sam beamed.

Cas watched the exchange between the brothers, both amused and a little sad. Dean was instinctively doing what he had always done: assuring Sam that he was proud of him, telling him he was doing a good job with his life. But at the same time, the gesture didn't have the same meaning it would have had before the accident. Dean had no reason to be proud of Sam other than being his brother and a decent human being.

Yet some of the tension that hadn't left Sam since he had heard the news seemed to evaporate as Dean continued asking questions.

They had now reached Jess.

"She makes you happy?"

Another different approach. Invariably, when Sam told him about a woman he had met or knew, Dean's first question would be, "She pretty?" to annoy him. But this Dean wanted to learn about his brother's life, and he asked the important questions first.

Sam smiled.

"Yes. Very. I'll call her later. She was as worried about you as the rest of us."

"Really?"

"You two hit it off when you first met."

They really did, their caring natures immediately finding a kindred spirit in one another. And of course both wanted what was best for Sam.

"She wanted to come, but I told her to wait until after the exam. You would've been pissed otherwise."

"I would have been," Dean agreed. "So what about me then? Single, I guess."

"Yes," Sam simply confirmed, not feeling the need to elaborate on Dean's dating history. Cas was grateful, not only because Dean's relationships had never ended well – Cassie had simply dropped him when he'd told her that he would continue working in his father's garage, and Lisa was a subject that was never mentioned between them – but also because irrationally, maddeningly, he never could help but feel a twinge of jealousy when they talked about the women Dean had dated. The women who'd had a chance to be with him.

Why they had thrown it away, Cas would never know.

Dean turned to look at him, and for a terrifying moment he thought he knew what he'd been thinking.

"What about you?" he asked, and Cas registered with relief that he was only trying to learn more about him. "Let me guess, from your outfit before – tax accountant?"

Cas laughed. His best friend had often claimed that he looked like one, but he had never seen a reason to get rid of his beloved trench coat and suit for more fitting clothes, especially since Dean seemed to like them.

"I'm a professor at KU. Religious Studies."

Dean whistled. "Pretty damn impressive family and friends I got."

"I can't repair a car to save my life," Cas offered and Dean laughed.

"That's hardly necessary if you're best friend with a mechanic." He winked.

It was what he often did – the unintentional flirting. Cas wished he wouldn't feel butterflies in his stomach every time, and this was no different.

"You have been keeping it running for years. You do complain a lot, though," he admitted.

Dean shrugged good-naturedly. "I'm sure there's a reason."

The reasons were mostly the words "death trap" and "hideous" being thrown about, but Cas chose to tell him another time.

"And Bobby?"

Sam and Cas were aware that he hadn't asked about his father yet; in fact, he hadn't mentioned his parents at all. Cas' best guess was that he wanted to deal with what was in front of him first.

"He owns a salvage yard not far from your garage," Sam replied just as the door opened and Bobby strolled in.

Cas once more couldn't suppress the feeling that Dean's deduction, if erroneous, had been based on sound observation when the older man smiled and squeezed his shoulder while enquiring, "How are you feeling, sport?"

Dean gave him the same honest answer he had given Sam and Cas.

"We were just talking about you," Cas said.

"Ah, already soiling my reputation, I see."

"I only know you own a salvage yard," Dean pointed out.

"Not much else to tell."

"Are you married?" Dean asked innocently and Cas looked at Bobby, expecting him to stiffen as he always did when someone mentioned his dead wife.

He simply shook his head.

"I was married," he said softly. "But she died a long time ago. Before you were even born."

"I'm sorry," Dean began to apologize, but Bobby made clear he didn't have to.

"Ain't your fault you got amnesia."

It was only in the proceeding lull in the conversation that Dean realized someone was missing.

"What about... Dad?" he asked. Sam noticed the slight hesitation before the word "Dad" and knew it as one he had often experienced himself.

"He's gonna come later," Bobby answered and then tried and failed to come up with an explanation.

"Suppose he's at the shop?" Dean inquired innocently and Cas admired the way Bobby just let the question drop without seeming to negate it.

John might be at the garage, but he doubted it. He loved to go there and control Dean, but since all he would find there at the moment was work, he would certainly prefer to go to a bar.

Dean seemed to accept that his father was simply looking after his property – it might have been a lie by omission, but he hoped he wouldn't hold it against them once he recovered – and continued asking questions.

They had all known it was coming.

"What about our mother?" he asked Sam. Cas and Bobby would have liked to answer, but he had asked his brother, and it was not their story to tell. It couldn't be easy; Dean had been the only one of them to remember her, and he usually didn't mention her, except on rare occasions when he was feeling sentimental and talked of bright smiles and good night kisses and cut-off crusts of PB & J sandwiches.

The last time this had happened, Sam had gone off to Stanford and John had told Dean proudly that at least he had one son who could take over the family business, not realizing how much he was suffering because Sam had moved away. He'd sat in his new apartment for hours before he'd called Cas, who'd come right over.

They had fallen asleep together on the couch that night, talking until the first light of day filtered through the windows.

He could still recall how it had been to wake up with Dean's warmth next to him.

All the things he had told him that night about his mother, and Dean didn't remember.

"She died when we were young. House fire," Sam said quickly, as if ripping off a band-aid, and Dean nodded.

There was no pain because there was no remembrance and for the first time Cas found himself glad for the amnesia.

Bobby, who wanted to diffuse the sadness that had settled over the room (or was it just their imaginations? Dean, after all, didn't appear sad in the slightest), grumbled, "Anyway, what else do you want to know?"

"That's the problem. There's too much. I'm glad that I know who you guys are, and that I'm not just some unemployed loser, but I've got a whole life to relearn, and I have no idea how."

"You won't need to. Doctor Moseley said this kind of thing often ain't permanent, didn't she?"

Dean nodded. "She also wanted to talk about treatment later."

"See? You'll be back to being your old obnoxious self before you know it," Bobby joked and was surprised when a flash of pain crossed Dean's face. In the next second, he could have kicked himself.

Dean didn't know him. He was adjusting well enough, but that wasn't the same as knowing him, knowing that he liked to tease them mercilessly. And no one liked being called obnoxious when they thought the other person meant it.

"Not like that, you idjit. I was being sarcastic."

The old term of endearment – well, he supposed it was an insult, but he chose not to see it as such – passed his lips without him realizing, but thankfully Dean didn't react badly. On the contrary, he seemed to get that it was only his way of talking.

Good. The last thing he wanted was to hurt his boy.

The door opened and Bobby half-feared that the doctor was coming to tell their time was up, but was pleasantly surprised when he saw Jody enter, wearing her sheriff's uniform, a smile on her lips. She barely looked at them as she made her way to Dean.

"Hello, Dean. I'm Jody Mills, Sheriff."

"Hello, Sheriff. You're not here in official capacity, are you?" Dean quibbled, and she chuckled.

"Jody, please. I've known you since you were four."

Bobby remembered that night well. It was Jody who had contacted him and informed him that the Winchester house had burned to the ground and that she'd been the first officer at the scene.

He really wished it wasn't how they met. But Dean didn't know that, so he only smiled, happy to find another friend.

She automatically began to fix his bed sheets, and hushed him when Dean half-heartedly protested that she didn't have to.

It confirmed what Bobby had long suspected, that Dean really liked being fussed over despite him often complaining about it in the past.

"Anything new from the doctors?" she asked Dean while she was fixing his pillow.

"Apparently I'm fine" he said sarcastically. "They're talking about therapy."

"I'm sure it's going to come back soon," she said softly. "The Winchesters are nothing if not stubborn."

Dean smiled at her. He liked Jody. Based on what she'd been doing to his bed, she had something of a motherly influence in their lives. He supposed it was more than welcome since they had lost their mother so early.

It had been strange to learn about it. He had experienced no grief. He hadn't had the feeling that something important was missing from his life. Then again, Jody and Bobby could certainly explain that he didn't feel deprived.

With a surge of shame, he remembered that his father was very much alive and that he'd seen him this morning. But he was nowhere to be seen and Dean wasn't dumb; he knew he was not at the garage. His family weren't exactly the best liars.

Sam's phone rang and he all but jumped. He looked at the ID and immediately looked guilty.

"Forgot to call Jess?" Dean inquired sweetly and Sam shot him a dirty look as he left the room. The kid was whipped. Good for him.

His eyes travelled to Cas; he hadn't asked him if he had a significant other. He probablydid. He couldn't imagine someone not snatching him up.

Friend, he reprimanded himself once again.

"What about you, Cas? No frightened phone calls from a wife who adores me too much for your or her own good?"

"I'm single," Cas quickly said, a little forcefully, and Dean wondered if he'd crossed a line, but then he smiled and Dean relaxed.

Neither of them noticed that Bobby and Jody had taken a step back to give them some privacy, smiling at each other.

"Guess we just entertain each other, then?" Dean inquired, and became aware too late that the innocent question didn't sound at all innocent.

Cas blushed but answered apparently unmoved, "We're best friends. Boyfriends or girlfriends have never been a deciding point on whether or not we spend time together."

Boyfriends or girlfriends... Was Dean out? Did his family know? Or was Cas talking about himself?

If he was...

He unconsciously licked his lips, as he often did when he was nervous. Cas should have taken it as encouragement that Dean's instincts and memories were still preserved, but given the type of conversation they were having, he could only stare, mesmerized.

But whatever signals Dean might or might not be sending, he didn't mean them. He couldn't mean them. If Dean would know himself, he would be horrified at the thoughts that were flying through Cas' mind.

He looked away, blushing once more, not seeing that Dean's own face was flushed as well.

 _Idjits_ , Bobby thought. But if this made Dean finally pull his head out of his ass and stop the dance they'd been performing around each other for years, the accident might just be worth it. Kid deserved to be happy. And Cas, who was as much his boy as the Winchesters if he was being honest, did as well. Now if Dean could just admit that to himself – and the fact that he was attracted to his best friend – they might just get their happy ending after all.

Baby steps, he told himself as he watched Dean continuing to sneak glances at Cas. First let's get him looked after and well, and then we take on the big guns.

"So there is no explanation?"

"No."

"It's not a bad thing," Jess said slowly. "At least there's no brain damage. And there have been cases of spontaneous memory loss and recovery."

"And what if – " Sam trailed off, the fear he had already told Cas about resurfacing.

"Sam, he can't forget about his life just like that."

"You just said –"

"I know what I said. But Sam, he raised you. Family is everything for him. No matter why he forgot, whatever subconscious reaction prompted the amnesia, it can't be stronger than his dedication to his family and friends."

He knew she had no proof, knew that she was only calming him down, but it helped. His girlfriend always said the right thing exactly when he needed it the most.

When he asked how she was doing, she simply sighed.

"Eight days. Then I can take the exam and get on a plane."

"You don't have to, Jess. I told Dean about you and he agreed that he would have been angry if you'd come immediately, and I'm sure he'll be annoyed because you didn't take the time to celebrate with your friends, too, not to mention that your family – "

"Needs me right now because one of its members is in the hospital and I happen to love his brother enough not to let him shoulder this alone," she interrupted him.

He felt himself flush, as always when she told him she loved him.

"I love you, too," he said softly.

"You better. Alright, I have to go – the books won't study themselves."

She hung up and swore to herself that she would get something done today. Dean would never forgive her if she didn't pass this test because of him. Worse, he would never forgive himself, and he carried enough weight as it was.

One of the first things she had noticed about him was his tendency to solve every problem that arose himself, with as little inconvenience for others as possible. She wondered what he was like without his memories, without anything to drag him down. Was he still the Dean they all knew and loved?

She shook her head and opened her books. Guesswork would lead her nowhere.

"Really? I did what?"

"You pushed Gabriel into the pool because he had dared to draw a crude picture on the windshield of your car. You are rather attached to her."

When he saw Dean's confused look, he added, "The car – a 1967 Impala. You insist that it's a 'she'."

Dean couldn't conjure up a picture of his car, try as he might. But he knew a lot about it apparently, because all sorts of details popped into his head, even what it was supposed to look like. He just didn't remember what _his_ car looked like. Or driving. Or getting a license. Or ever learning how to fix it.

This whole knowing-without-remembering thing was kind of freaky, like suddenly waking up one day and speaking a new language without ever having learned a single word.

Doctor Moseley had told him that he shouldn't freak out about stuff like this, so he tried to stay calm. Cas sensed his discomfort and took his hand.

Dean could only stare at the hand that was suddenly atop his own, gently squeezing it. He had no idea if that was normal in their friendship or not, and when he found himself wondering about the possibilities, he harshly reprimanded itself.

It didn't help with the soft, warm hand still on his.

"I am sure you will remember – and even if you were not to recognise her immediately, you'll fall in love on the spot. Your adoration of your Baby is at times quite frightening."

"That might be the most polite way of calling me a freak that –" he had been going to say "I ever heard," but realized how stupid it would sound, so he stopped.

Cas squeezed his hand again. In an attempt to look anywhere but the attractive man holding his hand, he cast a glance around the room and asked, "Where are Jody and Bobby?"

He tried desperately to recall them leaving, but he couldn't.

Cas finally withdrew his hand. "They mumbled something about coffee, I think."

Dean snorted. "I bet."

Cas tilted his head to his side and looked puzzled, and Dean decided than an adult man definitely shouldn't look that cute while doing that.

"You realized how close they were standing, right? I'm an amnesiac, not blind."

"As a matter of fact, it has been a frequent subject of discussions between us. You think that Bobby should 'grow a pair'," Cas explained.

"Well, it certainly would – wait, she's not married, right?"

"No." Cas bit his lip, trying to decide whether he should tell Dean about Jody's deceased son and husband, but they had allowed Bobby to choose his own time to talk about his wife. They should give Jody the same option.

So he said nothing and only chuckled as Dean said, "Well in that case I'm obviously a genius because Bobby just needs to grow a pair."

"You are very intelligent, Dean."

Cas surprised both of them with that statement, although he knew of course where it had come from. For years, Dean, the boy who had finished school while barely paying attention and only doing the minimum he was required to and had then gotten his ASE while working full-time in his father's garage had been putting himself down as a grunt when he clearly was of above-average intelligence, as Doctor Moseley had pointed out.

It was an idle hope, but maybe if Cas could get Dean to believe it while he didn't remember his self-worth issues, maybe some of it would stick when he regained his memories. Maybe he would finally see himself as the wonderful person anyone who knew him did.

"Never doubted it," Dean said a little uncertainly, and Cas didn't know whether, had he been able to give free reign to his emotions, he would have laughed or cried.

"They'll be fine," Jody repeated as she dragged Bobby to the coffee machine. "You saw them. They clearly needed some time for themselves."

"I'm not worried," Bobby argued. "It's just that – "

He didn't really like Dean being out of his sight at a time like this. It was stupid, but that's how it was.

Jody let go of his arm – he tried not to feel a sense of loss – and her eyes softened. "I know. He's not himself right now. But Cas would never allow him to come to harm."

That was true, and he could really use the coffee.

As they waited for the beverage that at least resembled what they were seeking to seep into the plastic cups, Bobby wondered whether he should talk about what had been gnawing at him for hours now. Maybe not exactly gnawing. It was more making him proud and guilty and all other kinds of stuff at once.

"Dean called me Dad," he eventually said quietly when they had found two other uncomfortable plastic chairs to drink their coffee on.

Jody waited for him to continue.

"When we first saw him. He just knew Sam was his brother and got it in his head that I was his father. Guess he wanted to prove he wasn't wholly lost." A humourless smile passed over his face. "Didn't really succeed."

"And did it... bother you?" she asked, of course coming directly to the point. Must be why she was so successful as sheriff.

"No. And that's it. I'd give my right hand to be the real father of those boys, but I ain't. And John is hanging around his house, moping because his eldest didn't jump up from the bed, say 'Of course, sir' and run to open the shop again when it was his damn fault Dean never changed anything to begin with and –"

He realized he was getting loud and quickly toned his voice down. "I just..." He stopped because he didn't know what he wanted to say.

"I understand," she said, and he thought that perhaps she understood much better than he did. She had been a mother.

"We'll all be there for him," she continued. "It's all we can do."

Bobby nodded.

"And if he doesn't remember?"

"Then he'll get to know us again," she promised, and he believed her.

Cas kept telling him more anecdotes about the things they had done, and while they didn't bring back any memories, they were certainly entertaining.

Dean found himself laughing uncontrollably when Sam entered the room.

"And, she mad?" Dean inquired sweetly.

"She just wanted an update. And she's got the exam coming up – "

"I'm sure she'll do fine. She's not going to fly here before, is she?"

"No, but she's jumping on the plane the moment she's done."

"I told you that she didn't have to, Sam. I really think – "

"Tell her that when you see her and watch how she reacts," Sam suggested and now Dean really couldn't wait to meet his brother's girlfriend. He definitely needed to know who put that dopey smile on his face that made him look even younger.

"Where are Bobby and Jody?" Sam asked.

"Getting coffee, as far as we know," Dean answered matter-of-factly and Cas blushed. Sam studied them. Had something happened between them? No, Cas would never do that, not while Dean didn't remember who he was. But at least they were sitting really close – even closer than normal, and that was saying something.

Maybe this would bring them even closer. Maybe Dean would finally realize that there was one person he adored above all else and who felt the same thing in return. Maybe.

One could always hope.

But before any of that happened, his brother had to come back to them. It was easy to forget, with Dean's friendliness and cheerful manner, that he wasn't the man Sam had grown up with. That he didn't share a single one of the memories that had become so important to them over the years.

When he had left for Stanford, when he'd got the letter, he hadn't known how to tell him at first. He had thought Dean would see it as betrayal, as leaving him behind.

 _He'd made it. He had finally made it – all the years he'd been working towards one goal, and he'd made it._

 _He had been accepted. He was going to Stanford._

 _Even as his heart beat faster at the thought, it sank as he thought of his family._

 _He knew his father wouldn't be pleased. He might even kick him out. He was prepared for it and, after watching him steadily drift further away, only occasionally returning in the role of a father to berate and dictate to them what their lives would be like, he wouldn't miss him much. He could make his own way._

 _But Dean. His brother, who had read to him and played with him and watched over him. Who had sometimes gone hungry because Dad had forgotten to give them money before he went on one of his binges and he didn't want to let Bobby know how things were._

 _He would leave Dean here, too, working in a garage that was slowly falling apart, never thinking of going, of doing what he wished._

 _A part of him resented his brother for it, but a bigger part was scared that Dean would be angry, would denounce him like their father, wouldn't want to see him again._

 _He wouldn't mind leaving Kansas or his dad forever, as much as he was ashamed to admit it. But never seeing Dean again..._

" _What did the letter do to you, Sammy? It ate all your salad or something?"_

 _He would not even get a chance to prepare himself because his brother strode into the kitchen, still in his mechanic jumpsuit, and Sam looked at his watch to realize it was half-past five. He'd lost track of time thinking about what he would have to do, would have to say, would have to hear –_

" _Sammy? Are you alright?"_

 _He looked into his brother's concerned face and swallowed._

" _I got a letter from Stanford. I got in. With a full ride."_

 _He didn't know what he had expected, but Dean's face split into a grin and he punched him on the back hard enough to make him cough._

" _Way to go, tiger!"_

" _Dean?" he asked, unsure. "You're not... mad?"_

 _The proud expression left Dean's face and gave way to something like sadness._

" _You didn't think – " He cleared his throat. "Always knew you wouldn't stay here. Me, I'm right where I belong. You've always been the brains of this family. It was only a matter of time before you left."_

 _There was pain in his voice, and Sam had the feeling that it was there because he knew what he had thought, knew he had expected him to reject him, and he felt more ashamed than ever. He looked away._

 _Dean squeezed his shoulder. "I get it, Sammy. I get that you won't want to come back to this joint. I get I haven't exactly been the best company for you, growing up. And I get that Dad won't like it. But it's great news. You get to do something with your life." After a pause, he added, "But don't think that I'm not a little mad as well. You could have at least told me you were applying."_

 _Sam wanted to scream. Dean could do whatever he wished. He knew he would succeed. But Dean would never believe it. He had soaked up all the lies his father had told him, had come to see himself through Dad's distorted vision._

" _He'll throw me out," he said resignedly._

" _You don't know that. This, right here, is a big step and I'm damn proud of you. Dad should be to."_

 _Dad wouldn't be. Sam was sure._

 _He was right. Dad started screaming the moment he mentioned Stanford._

" _You have an obligation to this family – "_

" _I have an obligation to do what is best for me," he said heatedly. He didn't feel indebted to his father. He felt indebted to Dean and Bobby and to a lesser extent to Rufus and Jody Mills. But he couldn't recall his father reading him one story, or coming to one of his soccer games. It had always been Dean, even if he had to skip school because of it._

 _Dad continued to scream, and Dean stepped between them. It was a defence mechanism that had developed over the years, one that Sam hated especially. Dad had never hit them, although he had come close. And every time, Dean would have taken the beating to save him._

" _If you leave, you are never allowed into this house again," Dad finally growled, shoving Dean, who had grabbed his shoulders in an attempt to calm him down, away and leaving the house, most likely going to the next bar._

 _Sam found that he was not upset in the slightest. He had expected nothing less of his dad._

 _Dean looked broken._

" _It's okay, Sammy," he said, just like he had when Dad had been passed out on the couch and his stomach had hurt because he hadn't eaten in days._

" _I understand if you don't wanna visit until Dad gets his shit together," there was little hope of that happening, but Sam didn't say anything "but you can always come to my place."_

" _Your place?"_

" _The one I'm gonna get. Dad pays me, you know."_

 _Too little. Always under the guise that he'd eventually get the shop anyway. But Sam nodded. He could have protested. He probably should have. But aside from visiting, he wanted Dean to have something that was completely his, and a small apartment was a good idea. Dad wouldn't comment on Cas being over so often and Dean could have a little bit of independence._

" _So," Dean said, forcing himself to be cheerful, "How about I call Bobby and Cas and you see how many of your friends got time to celebrate tonight?"_

 _It was a happy celebration, despite everything. By the time Sam left for college, Dean had his own place and Dad was somewhat resigned to him leaving, even mumbling something like "Good luck" at the airport._

 _But he never entered the house he had grown up in again, spending his visits at Dean's._

Dean had been proud when he had told him that he had just taken his final exam, but he had been proud because he had felt it right to be, not because he actually was. A feeling such as he had known before could only grow after years of bonding.

"Doctor Moseley hasn't returned yet," Cas informed him rather unnecessarily, "but we expect her soon. In the meantime, I've been telling Dean stories."

"Is that wise?" Sam inquired worriedly. Dean rolled his eyes.

"We've established that I won't blow a fuse, and I want to know what my life's like."

"I understand. I just don't want you to get hurt."

"I'm not."

"Dean – "

Dean sighed. "And I thought I was the older brother".

"You are," Sam answered eagerly, "but I'm looking out for you just the same. This whole brother-protection thing goes both ways."

He had been trying to teach Dean that since he'd been old enough to realize that all his brother did was worry about him, never thinking about himself. Maybe he could finally get through to him when he didn't remember that he had been drilled to watch out for him.

"But my feelings in this matter are more important because I am the elder brother." Dean paused. "Actually, I am more important because I am the elder brother. Period."

It was a joke. He was joking, completely free from his must-protect-Sammy attitude, happy to tease him.

Sam wished that he meant it. Wished that he remembered so he could mean it.

"When do you think Bobby and Jody are going to be back?" Dean asked, noticing that he was uncomfortable and trying to help. "Maybe they eloped."

Sam snorted. "Unlikely."

As to prove the fact, Jody and Bobby strolled to the door, both wearing bright smiles. They turned a little forced when they looked at Dean, and he couldn't blame them. If he were in their position, he'd freak out.

He was still in pain from his injuries, but it wasn't too bad. Whatever they had given him had been strong. No wonder he'd been asleep until Doctor Moseley came to check on him.

He winced slightly as he moved, his chest reminding him that just because he was doing fine at the moment didn't mean he should rush things, and everyone's eyes were immediately fixed on him.

He wanted to protest that he was fine, but it would be stupid lying to them, so he just smiled weakly and said, "I'm sure I'll get better soon."

"Yes, Dean," Cas answered quickly, "You'll be out of bed before you know it."

And they were staring at one another again.

He should really tone it down, considering that was his best friend and he probably didn't find him hot when he was in possession of all his memories (although he thought the chances of that were rather slim).

This could get incredibly awkward. He really didn't need a crush on his best friend, especially not at a time when he couldn't remember why it was a bad idea.

Maybe it wasn't, but he shoved that thought away quickly. If he and Cas were supposed to be together, they would be. They had known each other long enough to figure stuff out, and if they had feelings for one another –

He wondered briefly what it would be like to actually be allowed to hold Cas' hand and kiss him to ease the worry in his eyes but when he realized where his mind was going, he looked away.

Cas was growing concerned about Dean's behaviour. He wasn't exactly acting strange per se, and he couldn't call it "out of character" because he didn't know what his character was, but he looked at him for much longer than he usually would have before abruptly turning away. It had happened a few times now. He had also allowed Cas to hold his hand far longer than he would normally have been comfortable with.

Cas could still feel the warmth of Dean's hand against his palm. He really tried to shake the feeling off, but he couldn't. It was ridiculous; he and Dean had often touched over the years, hugs, pats on the backs, they'd even fallen asleep on top of one another on the couch a few times.

But hand holding. It was different, it disclosed certain... intentions that he couldn't harbour when it came to Dean. He had known that when he had reached out. But Dean had looked distressed, and the touch had comforted him.

He was lying to himself, and he was painfully aware of that fact. He hadn't thought about Dean's feelings at all when he had touched his hand. He had wanted to comfort him, but even more, he had needed the contact himself, had needed to feel him, alive and strong –

He had no right. If Dean had known who he was, he would have had none of it, so why should he have it now? He was acting far more like a significant other than a best friend, sitting at his side, holding his hand –

Dean could be very angry once he regained his memory. He should be. Cas was taking liberties because he couldn't keep his feelings under control.

Maybe that was the reason he looked at him and then turned his head. Maybe he knew subconsciously that Cas was acting in a way towards him that he didn't like.

Cas subtly moved his chair back. It wouldn't do to stay more or less pressed up against Dean.

Dean might have known the guy for only a day – alright, he had known him longer, but he had to think as his situation dictated, or he'd go nuts – but he noticed Cas suddenly going quiet and moving away. Would've been hard to miss.

He was surprised and horrified at the feeling of loss he experienced. The guy was only a few inches farther away, for God's sake. And if he should be on the other end of the freaking planet, it still wouldn't have been any of Dean's business because they were friends, nothing more.

It was kind of hard to remember that with the handholding and storytelling, but still. Cas was just being friendly and happened to have no concept of personal space. And perhaps Dean had stared a little too long at him because now he had moved back.

 _Idjits_ , Bobby thought to himself once more watching the silent exchange between two of his boys – or rather, the silent miscommunication. Why were they putting distance between them when they clearly wanted the opposite? Dean beamed every time Cas tried to make him feel better, or touched him. His memories were gone, and his feelings stayed the same. How could it be that the penny still hadn't dropped?

He swore to God, once Dean was right in the head, he'd lock them both in his cellar and wait to see things turned out.

Jody moved forward to stop the silence from becoming awkward, and told them about a rather complicated arrest the night before; just as she was about to reach the end, Doctor Moseley returned, together with Doctor Dansley. Dean hadn't really seen much of him, since his injuries, at least the ones he was concerned about, weren't physical.

"Your body is healing well, Dean, even if you haven't acquired any of your memories," he said, and Dean was grateful that he didn't beat around the bush.

"I would like to keep you here a few more days for observation, but I can say with reasonable confidence that you will be released Friday at the latest."

He breathed a sigh of relief, even if it hurt his chest a little. He didn't like being cooped up in a hospital. Maybe he could even get up.

"You'll be in that bed at least another day," Doctor Moseley said, and Dean groaned. He swore this woman could read his thoughts. Then again, that's what she was supposed to do. "And there'll be therapy."

"You mean..."

"We'll work together, try to find out if there was any reason you developed amnesia. There are several techniques we will use to jog your memory."

He definitely liked that. The sooner he remembered, the better.

He would know then why Cas was only a friend and his heart beating faster when he was near and the wish to lean into his touch were only strange fancies that proved he wasn't right in the head at the moment.

And he might find out why his dad hadn't come. He wasn't really sad about it – not even mad, Bobby was hanging around persistently, more than keen on filling out the role – but he'd like to know. Perhaps they quarrelled. As far as he could tell, and he could tell very little after their short talk, he didn't think they had much in common.

He would also love to remember Sam. He wanted to recall their life growing up together. He bet his brother had been really cute, rocking those puppy dog eyes as a child too. He wished to learn what kind of brother he had been; judging by Sam's behaviour, he figured he was a pretty awesome one.

He nodded.

"Whatever you say, Doc".

She didn't correct him, although she shot him a disapproving glare that was somewhat weakened by an affectionate twinkle in her eyes.

All in all, it was good news. He still had no idea what had come before the moment he'd woken up and found a giant screaming at him, but other than that, things looked pretty good.

His family shared his optimism, or they didn't want to quench it; either way, he felt good, so he wasn't complaining. And Cas had moved closer again, once more affirming his belief that Dean would soon remember, that everything would be fine.

It was after the doctors had left – apart from regular health checks and his first appointment with Doctor Moseley tomorrow, Dean was free to do as he pleased, as long as he stayed in bed – that John came in.

Not John – Dad. Dean had to think of him as Dad. His mother had died when he had been young, so his dad had raised him on his own. He should definitely not call him John for that. And he had come after all.

He approached him cautiously, as he would a wild animal, and Dean looked just at the right moment to see Jody subtly shaking her head at Bobby and the older man biting back a no doubt sarcastic remark.

Dean figured he'd help the poor guy out and said, "Hi, Dad."

"Dean." He approached him farther until he was standing next to Cas, who Dean realized wouldn't get up for him. Actually Cas hadn't gotten up for anyone. He was staying at Dean's side, as close as possible.

He was trying not to let the warm feeling he felt in his gut wash through him. Trying.

"How are you feeling?"

"Memory hasn't come back yet, but other than that, better." He suppressed the ridiculous impulse to add "sir" at the end of the statement. Why would he call his own Dad "sir"?

"That's good."

An awkward silence settled between them. Dean was sure that wasn't how it was supposed to go. He didn't have a problem with any of the others, so why did his dad find it difficult to speak to him? Was he making the others as uncomfortable?

But one look at Cas, who was sitting on the edge of his seat to be as close to him as possible without cuddling him (Dean didn't blush at the thought. He didn't.) proved that this wasn't the case.

They had been a little hesitant as to how to approach him. He could understand that. He'd felt the same. But he'd already seen Dad, so shouldn't there be more to talk about? Cas had been talking to him for hours; he knew anecdotes, stories, details that could probably have convinced anyone that he wasn't an amnesiac if he had chosen to try.

He only now became aware of how little of his Dad Cas had told him. He'd stuck to fun memories, and it seemed that every time they had been well and truly content and happy, either Sam or Bobby or some other friend had been with them. Never Dad.

He was starting to think his life was more complicated than he had assumed.

Cas moved and his arm pressed against Dean's side for a second. Not that he wasn't already working on making it more complicated than it needed to be, he reflected as he felt the tingle this resulted in.

He told Dad what the doctors had said, and he looked – well, not exactly disappointed, but not exactly pleased, either. It was difficult to read his expression. Dean had no idea what he was thinking, but he almost looked a little pissed.

Was he angry that they hadn't started therapy right away? Dean would much rather have jumped right into it than wait until tomorrow, but he supposed it had to do with the rest everyone told him he needed, even if he didn't feel like it.

Sam was angry. Actually, Sam was furious.

Dean was telling him about therapy, about _getting better_ , and Dad was clearly _pissed because he couldn't go back to work in the garage right away._ The garage he had almost _died_ in.

Dean, thankfully, didn't seem to notice, and if he did, it didn't inspire the awe and near-panic it used to. Normally, the moment Dad asked something or looked displeased, Dean would jump up, say, "Yes, sir", and do everything he could to satisfy him.

There was a part of Sam that was pleased at how Dean told Dad about the therapy matter-of-factly, supposing that he felt as they did, never suspecting that he was worried about his shop not being reopened immediately.

There was a larger part that was screaming at him to drag his father out and punch him.

He was glad that Dean didn't understand, that he couldn't read Dad's expression. He didn't need the guilt he would usually have felt – without there being a good reason for it.

Dean was not a soldier, Dean wasn't supposed to function whenever Dad wanted. But Dad had never understood that, had blocked any attempt of Bobby's and later Sam's to talk some sense into him, and it was far too satisfying to see him grow confused once more.

He finally said, and to his credit he kept his voice carefully blank so that it wouldn't sound like a reproach, "You won't be able to open the shop for a few days, then."

Dean took it was a joke and laughed. "A few days? No, I suppose not. Can't remember my training, don't even know if I could fix a car when it was put before me. It's all damn confusing."

"I guess –" Dad stopped, took a deep breath and continued, "I guess it'll stay closed, then. Won't do much harm."

"I would suggest redecorating," Dean answered, still thinking they were joking. "I've got a few ideas about what to do with that drawer."

If Dad's refusal to let him modernize the shop hadn't led to Dean getting injured, Sam might have felt a little sorry for him. As it was, he could only stand there, being equally eaten by delight and regret.

"So, Dad," Dean said, and suddenly Sam felt as if he was watching an accident about to happen, "Sam and Cas have been telling me all kinds of stories, but what about you? What did we do together? It didn't come up."

It didn't come up because "doing things together" had meant that Dean did whatever he was ordered to do, Sam thought, but he said nothing. He could have rescued Dad, but he didn't wish to.

None of the others in the room were particularly keen to let him off the hook, either, it seemed, and so Dad finally stuttered out some stories about teaching Dean how to make macaroni and cheese because he'd forced him to.

He left out the part of the story where Dean wanted to learn because Dad wasn't around to cook often and he needed to feed his brother because he didn't dare go to Bobby all the time in case Dad got angry, but Sam wasn't going to correct him. It was pathetic, but he wanted Dean to have the impression that his life had been as happy as could be, if only for a few short days.

As it was, Dean was laughing, happy and carefree, and Sam had never really seen him like this. He could only stare, and he was sure the others felt the same.

Cas was mesmerized. For a long time, he had been wishing that Dean would stop carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, would do what was best for him and let himself be happy. And now he was happy, without an effort, even if he was a little scared and confused.

But the prize was too high.

John behaved himself during the remainder of his visit, and soon they found that it was evening and Dean would get his meal and then be expected to rest.

He was obviously sorry to see them go, and Cas took hope from it. If he trusted and liked them, they could help him remember. He would remember.

Sam was optimistic as well, already talking quickly about how they could tease Dean once he regained his memories, and Cas wasn't ready to curb his enthusiasm.

They had had a great scare. They deserved an evening of optimism.

Bobby and Jody accompanied John home – no doubt to stop him from drowning his sorrows, but Cas would rather not think about it – and Sam offered to let him stay in Dean's apartment because it was nearer to the hospital. Cas declined. If he accepted, he would look more like a concerned boyfriend than –

Well, than he did already. He hadn't left Dean's side from the moment he had stepped into his room. And Dean had said nothing about their close proximity when before, he would have made a comment about personal space.

But it wasn't right. He shouldn't use Dean's affliction to get as close to him as possible.

He resolved to be a better friend come tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

Doctor Moseley had scheduled Dean's appointment for eight o' clock – an unnecessarily early hour, if you asked Dean, but she most likely suspected, just as he did, that his family would visit very early and stay till late, so he might as well get it over with. He didn't know what to expect; he knew he'd much rather have stood up and walked on his own because he could move, especially since he got pain meds, but she came to his room and sat down in the chair Cas had occupied, pulling it back.

Dean politely returned her greeting. As far as therapy went, he was kind of sceptical, even though he wanted his memory back. He just couldn't imagine how she expected to fix it.

"Alright, let's get on with it. Here's the plan. First, we're gonna schedule a few therapy sessions, nothing out of the ordinary – and not every day, because we want you to live as normal as possible with your condition – and if it doesn't work, there are other methods we can try."

"What methods? Filling me up with meds?" Dean demanded. He expected her to answer honestly – her no-nonsense attitude had been the first thing he'd noticed about her and very welcome indeed, he didn't want to be babied – and he wasn't disappointed.

"In cases of dissociative amnesia, there is no use for meds, unless they are for unrelated afflictions."

"Like the headache and my chest."

"Exactly. As to alternative treatment – if therapy shouldn't help, hypnosis is an option, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"So for now, you'll try to read my mind?"

She shot him a don't-mess-with-me look. "We'll work on your current mental status. I don't want you freaking out. Actually, how are you?"

He shrugged. "Kind of – okay. I mean, there are moments I'm scared. It's just so freaky to wake up and be told you have this life and a little brother who's taller than life and a father who has no idea what to do, and a best friend – "

He stopped himself before he said anything too revealing. Her expression gave nothing away.

"That is completely natural. Have you experienced any memory flashes? Around your family, for example. I know they have been telling you stories. Anything ring a bell?"

He shook his head. He had appreciated what Cas had told him, had pictured them doing stuff, but he had never felt like that were actual memories. He could remember because Cas had told him, not because he had lived it, or that was what it felt like.

He explained it to her, and she nodded. He had no idea what she was thinking. Was it normal? Was he a strange case? Would he ever remember?

"How do you feel about your family?"

He blinked slowly. "That's kind of hard to answer because I just met them, don't you think?"

"Don't act like you don't understand me. I'm here to help you get better, and I can't do that if you're not feeling comfortable with the environment around you."

"I'm in a hospital."

"Not what I was talking about. What do you think about your family?"

He swallowed.

"Sam is hard not to like. I already do, a great deal. He looks like an over-exited puppy when he's happy." He smiled at the memory. "Bobby and Jody are pretty awesome, too. I swear they couldn't be nicer if they were my actual parents."

Until now, he'd been short and to the point. But he was aware that he had omitted two of the persons he had met, had deliberately not yet spoken about them.

His father. And –

Cas.

He really would rather not let her know that he was developing a teenage crush on his best friend, thank you very much.

As for Dad...

She didn't prod him, just sat there waiting, quietly.

"Dad is –" he began, then stopped. He couldn't even describe him.

"He's okay. I mean, he came to visit me and everything. He's concerned. It's just – "

And suddenly he understood what disturbed him when he thought about his father. Therapy, huh. Maybe it was useful after all.

"It's the others," he admitted.

When he didn't continue, she asked, "What about them?"

"It's how they react. To Dad. It's weird – they're relaxed, if a bit freaked out, when they're just in the room with me, but when he enters and talks to me..."

"Are they scared?" she inquired, and he wondered if she thought of abuse. He didn't think so. As far as he could tell, there were no old scars on him –

He realized that he had yet to look in a mirror. Still, as far as he knew, there were no scars that would point in that direction, and he doubted that the others would have let Dad enter the room if it had been the case.

It was strange how detachedly he could think about it because if something had happened, it had happened to him; but it was as if he was contemplating the life of a stranger.

"No. I don't think so. It's just –" He shrugged. "I have no idea."

"Does your father make you uncomfortable?"

"No." That was easy enough to answer. While he didn't really feel a connection with Dad, he certainly wasn't threatened by him.

She nodded.

"And Mr. Novak?"

It was the question he had feared, but he quickly answered, "He's great. I can believe that we're best friends."

He didn't say anything more, but there was a knowing look in her eyes. Damn mind-reading psychologists.

"Now that we have established that you are more or less content – and I know it's a strange word to use, but for the moment you are coping – what do you think about your life? I know you have learned a few things."

He thought back on the stories. They were full of movie nights and fixing cars and family parties, and all in all it hadn't sounded bad. He thought of the family that had been glued to his bed since he had woken up. He thought about Cas.

"It's good, as far as I can tell. Nothing I wouldn't want to remember."

It was weird to imagine that his brain had sent out some kind of signal that he wanted to forget his life, his family, his friends.

"I mean, I have a shop, and a family, and I'm apparently a pretty swell dude, if how they treat me is anything to go by."

He was growing more frustrated as he listed the reasons why he shouldn't have forgotten.

"Dean, breathe."

He became aware that he was indeed somewhat light-headed since he had fallen into ranting without admitting that he needed air, and took several long breaths.

"It is important that you don't blame yourself. Most cases of dissociative amnesia that have been examined had a link to either trauma or the wish to escape a certain situation, but that doesn't mean this is what happened here. Even with years of training one doesn't know the human mind completely. You can't heal properly if you feel guilty".

Dean was determined to take her advice. The least he could do was try and keep a positive attitude. He didn't want to be stuck with amnesia because of self-hate. That would be phenomenally stupid.

The therapy continued, although what she expected to happen from just talking about the situation, Dean couldn't say. But Doctor Moseley was not a bad person to talk to, and if it meant he'd get his memory back, he was glad to do it.

At the end of their session she produced a small mirror out of her pocket and Dean had never been more thankful in his life. In the part that he remembered, at least.

He studied the face that was looking back at him. It didn't feel familiar at all. If the guy had passed him in the street, he'd have given him a once-over and decided he was hot, but that was all.

He couldn't even decide whether he looked like a Dean or not.

He still thanked her as he gave the mirror back, wondering whether it would ever feel like his true reflection.

She'd just stood up when the door opened and Cas entered. He apologized and moved back, but she simply told him that "your friend" was doing well and that they were finished anyway.

Dean told himself that Cas blushing was in his imagination.

"I know Sam wanted to be here early," he said, sitting down, "but I expect he slept through the alarm."

"Kid has to be tired," Dean agreed. "With the exam and all that – "

He waved his hand, indicating the room. Cas smiled.

"How was your session?"

"Good, I guess. Nothing came to mind, though."

"We have to be patient," Cas answered, and Dean sighed.

"I know. That's what I keep hearing. But I wanna remember. Chasing Sam around and studying with you. Taking over the garage. I mean, I hear all this stuff about me, and I see you around me, and nothing connects".

"Dean – "

"And don't say it doesn't bother you. You're all great, you're putting up with it and being nice, but you have to be worried –"

"Dean – "

"And you have to expect that I remember, I know you do, and it's not like I blame you for it, it must be really freaking weird, but what if I don't, and you just want me back, the old me, and – "

"Dean – "

He was hyperventilating again and he forced himself to calm down. He guessed it was happening now as opposed to yesterday because he was realizing this was real. He was indeed trapped in a hospital room with no memories of how he got there.

"Dean," Cas said again and this time, his hand was on his upper arm. "Please. I know it's scary; I know it's unusual; I know you fear you'll never remember. But there is every reason to think that you will. And we'll be there for you every step of the way. We all – we all love you".

Cas prayed Dean hadn't noticed the slight hesitance at the word. He would think he'd meant in a family way. He never had to know. He never would know.

Dean sighed.

"I know, Cas. And that's part of the problem." When Cas frowned, he hastened to add, "I mean, I'm glad I woke up surrounded by you guys instead of alone, but it's kind of giving me – I feel bad for not remembering you".

"Don't," was all Cas could say, amazed that Dean was talking so openly about his feelings. He trusted him. Even though he didn't remember him, he trusted him.

Dean smiled at him weakly.

"I'll try," he promised.

The door opened and Sam barged in, flustered at having overslept, stammering an apology.

Dean shook his head.

"It's not like anything's about to happen just because you got some much-needed rest. Relax, Sammy".

He hadn't expected his brother to stop and stare at him, but that was what he did.

"Dean – " He dragged the second chair in the room closer to the bed rather than asking Cas to switch places – "You called me Sammy".

"I did?" he asked, trying to remember.

"Huh. I suppose I did".

When Sam just grinned, he asked, "That's good, right?"

"You always called me that. There was a time when I tried to make you stop, but good luck trying to make you stop anything".

Cas chuckled, and Dean let Sam enjoy the moment. Maybe it was a subconscious reaction after all, and his memories were still there, he just couldn't access them at the moment.

His family's mirth was interrupted by the nurse bringing breakfast, something Dean had been waiting for since he had woken up. Yesterday, all he'd gotten to eat was some sort of tasteless pulp that was supposed to be good for him, but since he'd been declared more or less healthy, he was allowed to have proper meals now.

It was when he was looking at the tray that it hit him that he had no idea whether he liked any of this stuff. Bread? Marmalade? Butter? Maybe he didn't like breakfast, period. Maybe he had never eaten in the morning.

He knew the basics of his life. He knew what he did, that he had a brother, a best friend, that he was a mechanic – but what else? The details were missing. He looked at the stupid, quickly cooling plastic cups of coffee and tea – apparently the nurse had been kind enough not to ask and just brought him both – and felt like crying.

"Dean?" Sam asked.

"It's stupid," he said, and hated how whiny he sounded.

"It's not," Cas stated softly. "Why don't you try everything?"

It was obvious and what he would have done anyway once he'd calmed down, but somehow Cas telling him that he could made everything better, and Dean smiled.

He took a sip of the coffee and grimaced. Then he quickly took two packs of sugar and dumped them in.

He heard Sam's intake of breath and looked up. His brother was looking like he had seen a ghost, and he all but let the cup drop.

"Sam?"

"Nothing," he quickly assured him, but his smile was not the open, happy one Dean had come to recognise. "I just realized I have yet to call Jess this morning".

He left and Dean looked at Cas, feeling helpless.

"Can you check that he's alright?" he asked.

Cas nodded and followed Sam. Dean decided that he might as well keep eating his breakfast since he couldn't get out of bed – Doctor Moseley would skin him alive.

The coffee tasted much better with the sugar taking away the bitter edge. After another sip, he added cream and eventually found the right mixture. He hummed happily and began buttering his toast.

Cas found Sam in the corridor, staring out the window.

"Sam?" he asked.

"It's – ridiculous really, Cas. I didn't mean to get upset. But..."

"I know. The coffee".

"He has only ever drunk his black, like Dad. Used to make fun of me for preferring more exotic choices. It was just a reminder. He's there but not really".

"Dean is Dean, whether or not he remembers and no matter how he drinks his coffee. He sent me after you".

"Really?" Sam demanded hopefully.

Cas nodded.

"The moment you left".

Sam relaxed, and Cas felt relieved. He couldn't allow his worries for Dean to block out his other friends' needs. Dean would never forgive him once he remembered.

"So are you going to call Jess?"

He shook his head.

"Did it as soon as I woke up. She was already studying".

They turned and went back inside.

Dean was happily munching on his toast, and Cas noted that his appetite had not been affected by his memory loss in the slightest.

"It seems you like it," Sam commented.

"It's okay. The tea really could be stronger, but the coffee's not that bad with cream and sugar in it".

Sam wondered if perhaps the accident had affected his tastes – after all, he had amnesia, so other aspects of his personality could be altered as well – or if it had been another attempt to make their father proud – drink his coffee black without sugar, just like him, show that he was a real man.

He really wished his father's views on what made a man weren't so archaic and primitive.

That his brother still liked marmalade was no surprise. When Sam could persuade him to have breakfast, it had to be sweet. Maybe he could bring Dean pie later today. Seeing his face as he got introduced to it would be incredible.

After Dean had finished, he looked at the tray, contemplating something.

"Do I even normally eat breakfast? It's such a strange thing to ask, but – "

"It's normal that you're curious," Cas interrupted him. "And no. You prefer just coffee".

"I tried to force you when we still went to school," Sam interjected. "As long as it was sweet, you didn't object too much".

Except for coffee, he silently added, but he didn't want to stress Dean by telling him he was not consuming food and drink like he used to.

There was a knock on the door and Doctor Moseley walked in, obviously expecting them to be there.

"Mr. Winchester, Mr. Novak".

She had accepted Cas as family right away, not commenting on the missing resemblance, just like Bobby and Jody, and Dean was thankful for it. This whole thing would have been far more embarrassing if he'd had to explain that they were indeed his family without remembering them.

"Hey, Doc. More therapy?" Dean asked to hide the fact that he was a little bit worried seeing her again so soon. Maybe he'd said the wrong thing and she wanted to do more tests.

"Relax," she told him immediately with her weird mind-reading power, "I'm here to talk to your family."

"They need therapy too?"

She shot him a withering glare and he was quiet.

"Dean and I had our first session today," she informed them as if they didn't already know, but he wisely chose not to comment.

"He is well adjusted to the situation. As long as Doctor Dansley green-lights it, I have no problem with him leaving at the end of the week."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He was looking forward to getting up and out. He wanted to see his apartment, his garage, the house he'd grown up in, Cas' place. Maybe it would jog some memories.

"And the amnesia?" Sam asked, shooting Dean an apologetic glance. He really understood. Sam wanted his big brother back. And he wasn't reluctant to be him, again.

Did he just think of himself as a different person? But that was how it felt like. It was too confusing, so he concentrated on the doctor's answer.

"As I said, we can't be sure. I have hope that his memories will return soon, however; since he isn't overwhelmed by information about his life, feel free to tell and show him everything you consider fit. And even if it shouldn't help until he checks out, living in his own space should help."

With that, she left them alone, and another day of waiting began.

At least he would be able to get up tomorrow, as Doctor Dansley confirmed later.

Meanwhile, Sam had thought it would be a good idea to get some pictures to show him, and was on his way to the door when Cas intercepted him.

It was adorable to watch them try to make up reasons why the other should stay and they should fetch the pictures. Dean couldn't help but be filled with warmth at the sight. His family might be a little weird, but he'd rather have them go overboard with their affection than leave him alone.

And Cas of course –

No. He wouldn't think about him like that. He wouldn't.

Sam sat down again after Cas had left and Dean was acutely aware of being alone with him for the first time since he had woken up and been wheeled away.

Sam was clearly very fond of him, and was waiting for him to say something, anything that indicated he was starting to regain his memories, but sadly nothing came to mind. He still heard about himself like about some guy named Dean some things happened to.

He didn't know what to say. Typical conversation starters wouldn't do – He couldn't just ask, "How are you?"

He thought about how easy it had been with Cas. But Cas had never given him the feeling that he had to remember. Sam, although he was trying to accept the situation, couldn't hide the wish that he would drop the act and be his brother again.

"Bobby will come soon," Sam said, "He just had to work a little at the salvage yard."

"I don't want to keep him from work. He'd probably spend all his time here if he could," Dean answered, thankful for the topic. He was surely right. Bobby would be at his side 24/7 if his job and the hospital would have allowed him.

Sam, of course, was here to stay until he was released. Cas as well; he'd told him yesterday that he wasn't expected at work. Had taken time off work for Dean.

He forced himself not to think about it and looked at Sam.

He was studying him, obviously lost how as to approach him, and Dean finally asked, "Are we usually this awkward?"

He chuckled and relaxed slightly, and Dean decided he'd done well.

"No. You never shut your mouth".

"Because lawyers are always shy and quiet," he shot back.

"Not a lawyer yet."

"Soon enough. I'm sure you made it."

"Thanks". He looked at Dean and his eyes softened, "You are still doing it".

"What?" he inquired, confused.

"Putting others' comfort before your own."

He shrugged. "I was just telling you that I'm sure you passed your test. I'm not – "

"Are you alright? Really?"

"Honestly?" he began because he felt that Sam needed him to be honest, like he was with Cas. "I'm angry because I don't remember, but hey, at least I'm a kick-ass brother, right?"

Sam smiled. "Yes".

"See? Worse things to hear. And Doctor Moseley seems to think it will come back soon anyway".

"How was your first session?"

"Okay, I guess. She wanted to know how I was coping".

And just like that, they were chatting. Sam told him about life at Stanford and how Dean had read to him and cared for him and fed him when he was little.

His opinion of his father's care skills sank by the minute. Who let an eight-year-old look after a four-year-old on its own? He'd even cooked for his brother! Even with the shop, shouldn't Dad have been around more?

But he didn't tell Sam. If Dad was neglectful or worse, they hadn't told him for a reason, didn't want him to know about it yet.

He could understand – they probably wanted him to be happy and content and relaxed so his memories would return easily – so he found it easier to say nothing.

But he couldn't help but think that Dad could have done better.

He had no doubt that Bobby would have.

Their conversation turned to Cas after Sam had recounted a party that had ended with Dean and Cas having to run away because the latter had decided to ask a girl from school whether it was true that her father had left because he didn't want to have it "accidentally come up while we talk" and she had freaked out, resulting in her big hunk of a boyfriend stalking over to them.

"He's a weird dorky guy, isn't he," Dean commented.

"He can be. When did he arrive today?"

"Right after therapy".

There was a knowing look in Sam's eyes that Dean hoped didn't mean what he thought it meant. He'd believed he was hiding his infatuation well, but if the not-so-hidden amusement in his brother's face was anything to go by...

"Anyway, so I get that we're friends," he hastened to say. "He's just so nice."

He realized too late that he sounded like a schoolgirl with a crush.

Sam grinned. "He is," he confirmed.

"But don't you think I shouldn't make him hang around all the time? He has time off work, but..."

"Try to convince him of that and see what happens," Sam suggested, sure that Dean wouldn't. It would have been funny to watch, though. He didn't tell Dean that he had seen the glances and blushes, that he was finally free from the self-loathing macho male persona he had forced on himself and that he was noticing for the first time what he was really feeling for Cas.

There was no doubt that Dean had certain instinct responses to them. He had trusted Sam and Bobby right away, he had a crush on Cas, and he was reserved around Dad. He didn't know why he was acting this way, probably didn't know that he was acting this way at all, but it confirmed that his brother was still in there. And hopefully taking note.

Sam had decided to try a more hopeful approach – if he freaked out, it wouldn't help, and he didn't want Dean to feel pressured – so he did his best to see it all as sort of funny.

Because if he didn't, he would realize how sad it really was that Dean only thought Dean was worth something when he couldn't remember himself.

For now, he was focusing on telling Dean embarrassing stories, trying to make him remember, and it was good to see him laugh, happy and carefree (of course aside from him having amnesia and worrying about it, but it was strangely less of a weight than the one he usually carried).

Dean was so open, Cas thought, his hands clenching around the wheel. He was so open and honest about his feelings, and somehow that made it more difficult to hide his own than usual.

Or maybe it was that Dean just didn't know, that he didn't know Cas, and it made him love him all the more.

He sighed and wondered where he should go. He wouldn't go to John; he and Dean had enough pictures of them and Sam. But he didn't want to look through both their apartments; he didn't want to stay away too long...

As if Dean would even notice. He liked him well enough, he was sure; but there was no recognition in his eyes, nor the comfort that came from years of friendship.

 _This isn't about you_ , he chided himself. Dean was with his brother, and they certainly should have all the time alone together they needed, so he would go to both their apartments. Since he knew Dean's like his own, it wouldn't take much time anyway.

Dean had always been sentimental and kept far more pictures of his family and friends than Cas; he preferred to have a few on his nightstand, next to his books, so that they were the first thing he saw when he woke up.

As usual when he entered his bedroom, the picture of him and Dean caught his eye. It was standing right in the centre; Sam had taken it last summer during a road trip. Just the three of them, and Dean happy and carefree for once. In the picture, Dean had his arm around Cas' shoulder, and he could still feel it, still feel the warmth of Dean's body next to his. Sometimes, he felt guilty because it could easily be surmised that they were a couple and that this was the reason he kept the picture in the place of pride, not that he was hopelessly in love with someone who could never reciprocate.

He shook himself out of it and went to grab the pictures; aside from the one with Dean, there was one taken in the scrap yard with Sam, Bobby, Jody, and John, and one of him and Gabriel from his brother's last visit.

He thought that Dean would like to know what he looked like, after hearing so much about Gabriel's tricks.

Dean had pictures scattered all over his apartment. Cas hesitated when he saw one of him and Benny. He should probably ask Sam if it was alright to take it, but Dean would want to know about him, he was sure.

Benny Lafitte had rode into town on a motorcycle two years ago, which had promptly broken down not far from the scrap yard. Bobby had naturally told him how to get to Dean's garage.

They had struck up an immediate friendship (and no matter how much Gabriel had teased him, Cas insisted that he hadn't been jealous). Benny had soon confided in Dean that he was not simply on a road trip, but a drifter who had recently left a biker gang – and Dean had given him a job at the shop.

Which was when the problems had started.

Cas had never had anything against Benny, although he'd been slightly worried when he had first seen the big burly man.

But Sam had been interested in the help Dean could barely afford, of course, and he had soon discovered Benny's record.

Which had ended with him flying down from Stanford to give his brother a piece of his mind.

It was one of the few serious fights they had had to Cas' knowledge, and he still remembered coming to visit Dean in the evening only to be greeted by Sam screeching, "He's a felon, Dean!" while Dean had shouted that it was his own goddamn business who he hired.

Cas had managed to calm them down and, to Benny's credit, he had noticed something was amiss with Dean the next morning and had offered to leave. Dean wouldn't have it, and he stayed long enough to make money to take him back to Louisiana, where he was working in his cousin's restaurant. He still stayed in contact with Dean, giving him credit for having straightened him out, while Dean insisted that he was already doing well when they met.

It was more proof of the generous heart Dean tried to hide, and even Sam had mellowed somewhat towards Benny recently.

And, to be honest, both him and Cas had been happy that Dean had found another friend, had allowed himself another friend amidst saving the garage and living his life in the confines John had given him.

Cas still didn't know how he'd defended Benny's job to his father; it was one of the few things they had never talked about. But Benny was in Louisiana and doing well and Dean had helped him greatly, and the more they could convince him he was a good man while he had amnesia, the greater the hope that it would stick afterwards.

As he made his way down the stairs, his phone rang. Gabriel. He realized he hadn't really kept his brother updated and winced.

He wanted to apologize, but Gabriel left him no time.

"So, apparently because summer break is coming up I can't immediately. All the more reason to open my own bar eventually. But as soon as I can – "

"I beg your pardon?" Cas interrupted him. Gabriel was a bartender in San Francisco, always eager to invent new drinks and tricks to impress customers.

"I am telling you that I can't leave for at least another week," Gabriel stated, enunciating every word.

"You really don't have to –"

"You don't think I wouldn't already be there if I could? You know Dean and I share a profound bond."

Cas didn't deem this worthy of an answer.

Gabriel sighed.

"Look, I know. I know I should visit more often, and that sometimes I don't call for months on end and you have to do all the work so we keep in touch. I know I'm not around as much as I could be. But this – I want to be there for you. All of you".

Gabriel rarely spoke like this. Maybe this was why he liked Dean after all; they were both closed-off emotionally.

Cas hadn't even wondered whether he would come, certain that he would not. He'd thought he wouldn't be interested, especially because Dean was more or less fine.

"Thank you," he said slowly.

Gabriel sighed.

"Alright, let's stop with all those feelings. Dean would be appalled. How is he?"

"He doesn't remember anything. But he's doing okay".

"That's something".

"I'm bringing him pictures as we speak, maybe they'll trigger something".

"They better" Gabriel said, "After all, it would be a shame if he didn't recognize my beautiful face the minute he saw it".

Considering Dean had chosen to frame the group picture of his last birthday party where Gabriel had quite obviously been already under the influence of too much alcohol and sugar, Cas thought that it would be indeed.

They ended the call with Gabriel swearing (or threatening, one could never be sure with him) to step on the plane once things had settled down into the usual holiday madness, and Cas drove back to the hospital.

It happened during another story about Bobby.

Sam saw Dean grow thoughtful and even though he knew what would come, he still wished it wouldn't.

"Sam? About Bobby..." Dean trailed off, looking unsure, struggling with thoughts he never would have allowed if he had still been in possession of his memories.

Sam didn't press him.

"I get that Bobby was around often, and that's awesome, he's nice and all... but what about Dad?"

"What do you mean?" Sam asked carefully. Selfishly, he wanted to keep this part of their lives from his brother, make it seem that he had had a sheltered and happy and unclouded existence. But it couldn't be. He had to find out.

"It's – Dad, wasn't he around?"

"He was."

"But then why does everyone only ever speak about Bobby?" Dean looked guilty now, probably remembering calling Bobby "Dad", and Sam hastened to answer. Anything to get that look of his face. He'd seen it often enough when Dean hadn't been an amnesiac.

"He worked a lot. And losing Mum took a lot out of him. But he was there".

Not often. Not in the way that mattered. But if he could shelter his brother from one thing, it was this.

Dean accepted his explanation, and any shame Sam might have experienced left when he contemplated that Dean would understand. Hopefully. Or at least not stay angry for very long.

"So how long do you think Cas will be?" Dean asked and he almost snorted. He'd thought he was obvious before, but this –

Thankfully he was spared the attempt to answer as Cas arrived at that moment, his arms loaded with pictures and photo albums.

Dean stared.

"We _have_ heard of digital pictures, right?"

"You like to be able to pick up and hold them when showing someone," Cas informed him and Dean was struck by how well he knew him. That wasn't a surprise, of course, so he chose he wouldn't like to know why he was struck.

When would he finally get that they were friends?

"This is just a part of your collection," Cas told him, setting down the albums on the small table next to his bed.

"And these?" Dean pointed at the few framed pictures Cas had kept in his hands.

He could have sworn Cas blushed, but he ducked his head, making it impossible to study his expression. Dean, being the wise older brother he apparently was, ignored Sam's smug smile.

"The pictures we keep in our apartments for everyone to see rather than in albums".

Cas handed them to him, still not looking at him.

There were ten altogether. Three were of him and Sam – a pretty blond woman hanging off his brother's arm in one of them.

"Jess?" he inquired, and Sam nodded, his face lighting up as he saw his girlfriend's picture.

Dean chuckled and moved on after studying Jess' picture. She looked nice and was obviously as smitten with Sam as Sam was with her. Good for them.

Four of the pictures were of him and Cas, and they were always touching. A hand on a shoulder, sometimes even a waist. He managed not to frown. Was there something they hadn't told him? Maybe he and Cas used to date and had stayed friends afterwards. Maybe what he was feeling was old, pushing to the surface because of his amnesia.

He would have to ask. But he didn't know how, so he'd wait. Maybe he should ask Sam rather than Cas. It would be less embarrassing.

He looked at a short man standing next to Cas in one photograph and he answered his unspoken question.

"Gabriel. My brother".

"The trickster?" Cas nodded.

"He's coming for a visit soon, actually. He promised."

"Why?"

Cas blinked.

"Because you're in the hospital."

"I'll be out by then."

"And still an amnesiac." After a pause he added, "And Gabriel is your friend, too."

It was nice to know so many people cared, Dean reflected, and continued to study the pictures. When he held up one that showed him, a big guy and a motorcycle, he saw Sam frown ever so slightly and concluded that, whoever he was, Sam didn't like him much.

"Benny. He works in a restaurant in Louisiana".

Dean nodded.

In a way, it was nice to hear about all the people he'd met and who apparently cared enough for him to have their pictures taken together; but it was extremely frustrating as well. He simply didn't feel anything – no familiarity, no like or dislike, they were just faces of people he hadn't met.

He kept smiling though. He didn't want Sam and Cas to worry about him. More than they already did. He tried to imagine himself in their position. What would it feel like to see a loved one and realize all their yesterdays were gone?

He should really stop using the word love in connection with Cas, he realized with a jolt as he was leafing through the albums (seriously, had he never heard of digital photography? Still, it was nice to have the pictures in his hands, alright).

But there were so many photos of them that could easily have been misconstrued as couple shots. The whole more-or-less hugging thing was bad enough, but –

Was that Cas stealing a fry from his plate at a diner?

Sam laughed.

"I took that".

He'd guessed as much. Leave it to annoying younger siblings to take pictures when you just wanted to have a nice meal.

At the sight of the burger in the photograph, his stomach rumbled and he realized how much time had passed.

Sam laughed again, commenting that no matter what, his appetite would never change, and Dean turned to find Cas smiling at him, and in that moment, his amnesia didn't seem to be a problem at all.

The day passed fast. They ate lunch – Dean, to Sam's astonishment, ate the salad that came with the meat without complaining, even if he snagged Cas' piece of pie that he'd got from the cafeteria afterwards and, after he had taken the first bite, stared at it as if he'd just had a religious experience.

Bobby and Jody came after lunch with Dad. He still looked at Dean as if he was an animal at the zoo, but Sam supposed it could have been worse; at least he didn't mention the garage and told him how excited he'd been when he'd heard that he was going to be an older brother.

Dean's understanding smile at that story warmed Sam's heart. Dean liked him. He would soon remember him.

He had forced himself into being optimistic because, if he was honest with himself, the other option was too awful to contemplate.

But the day left them all feeling good, and when he and Cas finally said goodbye after dinner, he couldn't help but hope that Dean might regain his memory any second.

Jess encouraged him as well; apparently most memory loss was short-term, and since Dean didn't have any serious injuries, there should be no complications arising from it.

Despite the amnesia and the fact that his memories didn't seem to be returning anytime soon – he listened to stories, stared at pictures, and still had to remind himself that the guy was him – Dean felt relaxed as he was left alone.

No matter how things progressed, at least he had enough people in his life who cared.

Per his request, he'd been handed a new cell phone – his old one had been crushed by the drawer, and really, how had he escaped with so few injuries? – and he happily programmed the numbers of those he knew in it because they didn't have to sit at his bed constantly that way.

Sam, of course, told him that he'd be back tomorrow, bright and early; then again, he didn't have to work.

Cas was relieved due to his bad conscience at leaving KU to its own devices, even though he made it clear that he'd prefer to stay with Dean, but he shook his head; the end of the semester was around the corner anyway, and they could spend more time together then.

And if his heart beat faster at the thought, no one had to know.

He couldn't help but feel his opinion of his father sink further when he was actually thankful that he wouldn't have to come visit him alone. _Imagine my audacity to expect my father to check in on me while I have amnesia,_ he thought drily, but was soon laughing at Bobby's promise that he'd try his best with the "buttonless thing" Jody had made him get.

Cas and Sam were the last ones to leave, and it was with Cas' smile on his mind that he fell asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

With Cas going to work, it being clear that he would have much rather stayed at Dean's side at all times, Sam was the first to enter the hospital the next day. It was around ten am – Dean had always liked to sleep in a little, and perhaps wanted to take a nap after the session with Doctor Moseley, so that Sam had set his alarm later than yesterday.

He had known that Dean would be allowed to get up for the first time since the accident, and had expected him, if awake, to bounce all over his room and perhaps the small garden by the time he arrived.

He hadn't expected to find him still in his corridor, comforting a little girl.

In fluent Spanish.

Sam had taken a few courses in his freshman year, but he doubted that he could have conversed with the child as quickly and efficiently as Dean, who was wiping away the last few tears that had escaped her eyes and speaking in soft, friendly tones.

By the time he was done, she was smiling again and Sam stepped up to them.

Dean smiled at him and stood up.

"Hey, Sammy".

"Hi," he answered, still a little confused.

Dean made a perfect impression of a gallant bow and said to the little girl, _"Señorita, Le presento a mi hermano"._

She giggled and curtsied and Sam had to hide his grin at how cute she was.

She said something to him, but it was too fast for him to understand.

Dean had no such problems and answered in kind, laughing, before turning to him.

"Mercedes said you are as big as the building she lives in. She and her parents are on a holiday, and her father got into a car accident – nothing serious, but she got upset and ran right out of his room and into me. I told her mother I'd look after her".

Sam smiled. It was like his brother to help the child in need. Although he certainly had had no idea how well he could speak Spanish. He'd been aware that Dean understood some of it, after all he was an avid watcher of Spanish soap operas; but he could easily hold a conversation and apparently understood everything Mercedes was saying, even though she continued to chatter despite him talking to Sam.

He had always known his brother was intelligent. He was starting to think even he had underestimated him.

Mercedes' mother came to collect her, all smiles and thankfulness and a thick Spanish accent, and they left with the girl excitedly waving and shouting goodbye.

Dean smiled, his eyes sparkling. "Not that I mind, but I was actually on my way to the garden. I need air".

They made their way to the small park in the middle of the hospital.

"Gotta tell you, it was a bit freaky," Dean admitted. "She ran out of the room, screaming something in Spanish, and I understood her, so I tried talking and it worked."

Sam hadn't know Dean was fluent in Spanish, either, so he couldn't really answer; but he nodded and it seemed to be enough for his brother, whose face lit up when they walked into the sunshine.

Dean sank on a bench, closing his eyes and happily breathing in the fresh air.

Sam studied him. Ever since he had woken up, Dean had, in a sense, been more relaxed than he could remember; of course not when he was contemplating his amnesia, trying to will his memories back into existence or being confronted with someone he felt he should recognize, but when he allowed himself to just be, to just talk and listen for the moment, there was none of the usual tension he had carried around with him since he was four.

Losing a memory meant losing experience, meant losing everything this experience had turned one into; and while Dean was still Dean, a good, friendly man who cared more about those around him than his own well-being, Sam could see the difference. His Dean was seldom truly happy and relaxed, always worrying about the garage, whether his little brother was safe at Stanford, if Dad had gone to another bar. This one didn't know he had ever thought like that. He didn't know that his unhealthy obsession to take care of his family had left precious little time for himself, had reduced him to a small figure in the background of his own life.

He had often wished his brother would be a bit more selfish, that he would do what he wanted instead of following orders and firmly believing that he didn't deserve better.

He still hoped he could impress him with a better self-image, more confidence to oppose their father and stop hanging around him like a mother-hen whenever he came to visit.

Not that he didn't appreciate his brother looking out for him. He just wanted to make him see that he had to look out for himself, too.

"I'll admit I look good, but I am your brother, you know," Dean commented, opening one eye and squinting at him.

Sam laughed.

"I'm just – relieved, that's all. How did the session go?"

Dean shrugged and opened both his eyes, sitting up.

"She's alright. And I'm doing okay. I mean, I'm not having any big freak-outs or anything, and the doctor said I might be allowed to go home tomorrow..."

"That's great!" Sam exclaimed. When Dean looked down on the floor, twiddling his fingers, he realized his brother was scared.

Normally, Dean would hide it, would say something cocky and grin, but he didn't know that this was what he had been trained to do from an early age, and he openly showed how nervous he was.

"Dean?"

"I get that seeing my apartment and stuff will probably help. But what if I don't remember? What if I never do? You want me to, I know, and I'm trying, and everyone's going on about how I shouldn't stress myself – "

"Because you shouldn't. We'll take it one step at a time". When Dean still looked sceptical, Sam continued. "I mean it. We'll see what happens and deal with it. We always have".

Dean smiled.

"I guess we're a good team," he remarked, and Sam was once more reminded that the man in front of him lacked all those experiences that made him dear to him.

Dean's phone chimed. Sam didn't even have to ask. His face lit up as he read the text and he turned to him to say, "Apparently one of his students is convinced that there are certain subliminal messages in _Paradise Lost_."

"What messages?"

"Judging by the text, I'd say those that one finds after a few joints," he answered and shook his head.

"He'll come by later."

His smile dropped and he frowned at the phone. Sam wondered what could have prompted that reaction. His question was answered when Dean began, "Me and Cas – we didn't use to date or anything, did we?"

"No," he said, surprised.

"It's – " Dean blushed and looked down. "The pictures and stuff."

Dean had finally realized that he and Cas were acting like a couple at all times. Under normal circumstances, Sam would have rejoiced.

"You are very close. You always have been," he said simply, hoping that Dean would remember this conversation later and see it for the sign that it was, rather than dismiss it as "he's like a brother to me", which was all Sam had gotten when he'd tried to allude to the subject once, years ago.

"He's hot," Dean suddenly blurted out, then clamped his mouth shut when he'd realized what he had said.

"I mean – apparently I'm bisexual," he then tried to save himself instead of deflecting and Sam was impressed.

Trying to appear nonchalant, he replied, "I know", hoping that Dean wouldn't kill him when he remembered. Even if Dean had been honest with himself about his sexuality, he would have been uncomfortable telling Sam.

"Did I – " Dean stopped again and laughed. "God, I'm about to ask my younger brother about my sex life. That's so uncomfortable".

It was, Sam couldn't help but agree. Yet Dean had a right to know.

"You do find men attractive, but you've never been in a relationship with one" he said. He was aware of what he was doing – implying that Dean had had sexual encounters with men when he had always been very careful to keep his macho persona – and that it would surely lead to complications once his brother returned; but he was tired. Tired of Dean hiding who he was, tired of watching him trying to please someone who never would be, tired of him living only on the edge of the happy life he could lead if he only allowed himself to.

"You had two serious relationships with women. Cassie and Lisa, but..." he paused, not sure how to describe it, but Dean understood.

"Crashed and burned, I presume?"

Sam nodded. For now, Dean didn't need to know that Cassie left because she couldn't bear being with someone who would work in a garage for the rest of his life or that Lisa had gotten pregnant after a drunk one night stand during one of their relationship breaks and had moved away even when Dean had offered to raise the child with her. Sam knew that she hadn't wanted to weigh him down with the responsibility and respected her for it, but he'd still been devastated.

"Yeah, well, I guess that's not too bad. Everyone's got history when they're thirty."

Sam wondered if he should bring up Dean's one night stands, but he really didn't want to discuss this subject.

Especially since Dean, whether he realized or not, had more than once glanced at Cas' text while Sam had talked about his relationships.

"There you are, you idjits," a voice interrupted his musings.

Dean grinned.

"Bobby! Didn't you say something about work and phones?"

"Yeah, decided I felt more comfortable when I can make sure you aren't doing anything stupid."

"I'm at a hospital".

"And who's to say you are resting?"

Sam watched the back and forth between Bobby and Dean with a smile on his face. He'd suspected that the older man wouldn't be satisfied with occasional texts during the day.

Bobby was as delighted as they were when he heard that Dean would be released on the next day.

"Wait until you're in front of a car. Bet it all comes rushing back then".

It was likely, Sam thought. Fixing cars had always come as naturally to Dean as breathing.

Dean shrugged but smiled, and his phone chimed again.

Bobby didn't even have to ask, just shared an amused glance with Sam.

The older man had to leave soon afterwards – so he had hastened over simply to see that Dean was fine – and it was time for lunch anyway. Dean decided to eat in the cafeteria with Sam.

And surprised him again. He took one look at the menu and decided on the pasta, ignoring the cheese burgers being prominently displayed (and Sam couldn't help but wonder who thought it would be a good idea to offer them in the hospital).

Dean was apparently eager to try anything he could get his hands on, and it wasn't like he hadn't liked pasta before, so Sam said nothing.

Cas kept texting during the day before eventually visiting around four– obviously relieved that his colleagues had insisted that he finally leave the office because he was climbing the walls, although he didn't express it that way.

"Hey, Cas".

"Dean," he said and rushed to his side, and Sam wondered if they knew how obvious they were.

Dean was all smiles, happy to leave tomorrow, if still anxious that his apartment and shop wouldn't help him regain his memories.

Sam tried to act more optimistic than he felt. He wanted to be sure that his brother would remember, but he couldn't be.

Dad made an appearance that evening, still uncomfortable and waiting for Dean to jump up and tell him that he'd open the shop tomorrow, but at least he made the effort to talk to him.

They finally said good night shortly before nine, Dean making them promise that they'd be there to pick him up first thing in the morning.

"As if we'd forget," Sam said, since it was obvious his brother expected Cas to be there as well.

"Just wanted to make sure. Ready to blow this joint".

They left, and while Dad didn't even linger to say goodbye, Cas and Sam slowly made their way to their cars.

"Did you know Dean's fluent in Spanish?" Sam asked suddenly.

Cas threw him a puzzled glance. "He loves watching _Pasión de gavilanes_. I was aware that he'd picked up quite a lot, certainly enough to check Spanish websites for spoilers".

He paused for a moment, and Sam let sink in the fact that he hadn't know that his brother had learned a language by watching people cry on television before Cas continued, "He's also been interested in a French sci-fi show for some time now. He's already learned to say a few things in French".

"Why didn't I know?" Sam said bitterly. "All this time, he's been calling me and I've only ever been talking about myself. I'd no idea he likes French television".

"You know how he is," Cas said simply. "He doesn't consider himself important or interesting enough to talk about himself. And he probably thinks that he doesn't speak Spanish well at all".

"You should have heard him with that little girl". Dean had told Cas about her the moment he had set foot in his room. "I could barely make out a word she was saying – she was talking way too fast for me. But Dean understood everything. And he answered her with no problems at all".

"It is nothing new that Dean underestimates himself,f" Cas carefully answered, and Sam thought of how he'd avoided to speak to their father.

Cas could at least dislike him with the least amount of guilt, he decided, feeling ashamed of himself.

"I don't think he does now," he said, unable to convey his feelings.

Cas understood. He smiled.

"Perhaps he'll learn a lesson," he replied. "This might be a blessing in disguise, after all".

Cas, of course, only thought about Dean's self-esteem, about the life he'd been trained to live. Sam thought about his brother and Cas.

It was clear that Dean had a crush on Cas – or rather, that without his memories, his unconscious feelings were coming to the surface. His question of whether he and Cas had ever been dating proved such.

Sam had never thought he would hear his brother come out as bisexual – and in a completely calm manner, as well. He hadn't worried about Sam being angry, or his manly image; he had simply stated a fact, firmly believing that his brother wouldn't judge him.

He hoped that Dean would remember this, would see that it was no big deal and that he could be happy with Cas at his side once he recovered.

They would cross that bridge when they came to it, though, he reflected as he drove to Dean's apartment. First, they would bring him home tomorrow.

Dean woke up excited. He would finally leave and see his apartment and shop, and the other places where he spent his life.

He knew he shouldn't expect to remember immediately. Missouri reminded him of that when she visited him barely ten minutes after he'd gotten up, apparently being able to tell when he was awake at a distance.

It was starting to creep him out a little, to be honest, but he was still thankful when she carefully explained to him once more that he shouldn't stress himself, that he should first and foremost learn to cope in the new environment (he snorted at the irony, but she shot him an icy glare and he stopped) and that she'd see him first thing Monday morning.

It was Thursday, so she probably wanted to see how a weekend living the life he didn't remember affected him.

He was ready to see for himself, to be honest. Sam and Cas and even Bobby had told him about his apartment and the garage, as well as the older man's salvage yard, but he couldn't picture them in his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

He would no longer have to rely on his imagination.

Sam had brought him the clothes he was wearing yesterday, as well as a duffle bag in which he quickly packed his tooth brush and other clothes before he sat down to wait.

Cas woke up at six am and was unable to go back to sleep. It was pathetic, but he couldn't wait to get Dean out of the hospital and hopefully see his eyes light up with recognition once he was in his usual environment.

It was time he remembered. Cas was no idiot; he had noticed that Dean seemed to like his company very much indeed and that there had been a strange expression on his face yesterday when he'd looked at their pictures.

He didn't want Dean to believe something that wasn't true. He didn't want Dean to think that he could have feelings for Cas when he never would.

But maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was reading too much into it because he desperately wished that Dean could feel this way about him.

He sighed and made coffee, waiting for the time to pass.

An hour later, Sam knocked on his door, excited and hopeful. Cas would have argued caution if he hadn't known that at best it would lead to him being worried and tense when they arrived, and he didn't want Dean to see him like that right at the moment he could go home. He shouldn't stress himself and try to force his memory.

They were not surprised to find Dean waiting for them, nor at Doctors Moseley and Dansley showing up to see them off, both cautioning him not to overexert himself.

Dean rolled his eyes, but Sam and Cas shot each other looks that indicated they would make sure he took care of himself.

He all but ran out of the hospital, Sam and Cas following, before he stood still in the parking lot and a look of pain crossed his face.

Cas moved towards him, but he'd already started walking to the Impala. At first he was surprised, but then he remembered that he'd told Dean about his car.

For a moment, Dean had almost panicked. In his haste to get out, he had forgotten (oh, the irony) that he had no idea where he was going; and suddenly finding himself surrounded by cars that could all have been the one he was looking for had been overwhelming. But then he'd remembered his and Cas' conversation about his "Baby", spotted an Impala, and simply begun walking. There couldn't be many Impalas around.

"At least he still knows his cars," Cas supplied, and Sam snorted.

"The day Dean doesn't automatically gravitate towards Baby is the last day on earth".

He agreed silently and they joined Dean, who was looking over the car in a professional and yet distant way that made Cas feel strangely uncomfortable.

"She's well taken care of," Dean said, and Cas was unable to tell whether he was using the pronoun because of their talk or out of some subconscious response to the car he had paid so much attention to.

"You'd never allow her to fall into disrepair," Sam answered, and Cas nodded.

Dean gently touched the Impala's hood, trying to feel any kind of connection, trace a memory that had to do with fixing it, but nothing came. According to his friends, it meant a lot to him, but it was only a car in his eyes, beautiful, yes, and excellently restored, but nothing else.

Frustrated, he turned around.

"Let's go home".

He ignored the disappointed look his brother tried to hide and opened the door on the passenger side. He briefly considered driving, but he didn't know how to get to his apartment and even though he seemed to be able to do stuff he'd learned before, he didn't want to risk an accident.

He closed the door with slightly more force than was strictly necessary, which Cas and Sam thankfully ignored.

Sam drove, with Cas in the backseat. The silence was deafening, but Dean couldn't think of anything to say.

"Don't you have any music?" he asked, irritated, and immediately Cas answered, "Your cassette tapes are in the glove box".

Sure enough, Dean pulled it open and found a collection of cassette tapes. Had his old self never heard of downloads?

He had no idea if he even liked any of the bands. He knew who they were, of course – he was growing used to knowing things without remembering learning them.

Out of impulse, he chose a Led Zeppelin tape. At the first chords of "Ramble on," Sam laughed.

"Should have known. They always were your favourite band".

"Do I like anything from this century, too?" he inquired. "I mean the music, the car – "

Sam shot him a look he couldn't interpret before replying, "You do like soap operas".

Dean groaned and decided to wait and see his apartment before he asked more questions.

He soon found that while he wasn't exactly disappointed per se, he had expected more.

Or not exactly more, but –

He didn't know what he had expected, really, but it wasn't this.

The apartment wasn't big, but it wasn't small either. He had a couch and a TV and a few books and the pictures Cas had brought him.

But other than that, the whole apartment seemed strangely empty. He couldn't tell what kind of person lived here, and he'd hoped that, at the very least, he would be able to find out something about himself. But nope; all he could say was that he apparently liked action movies.

He turned and looked at Sam's expectant face. His expression fell when he took in Dean's.

"Sorry," Dean began to apologize, but he shook his head.

"Don't stress yourself. You're supposed to take it all in slowly".

Cas was a comforting warmth at his side, and he turned his head to smile at his friend. Cas smiled back.

These were not butterflies, Dean told himself. This was difficult enough without developing a crush on his best friend.

He'd lost count of how many times he'd told himself that in the past few days.

"It's not bad" he finally said, less because he actually believed it, and more because he felt he had to comment somehow.

He didn't continue, to explain that he thought a few plants might make the place look more cheerful, and that there should be at least one more book case. He hadn't read anything since he'd woken up, being too busy trying to sort out this whole mess, but he had the feeling that he liked to read.

He also had the feeling that he liked more personalized apartments and nicer couches, and it was really confusing to realize that apparently he didn't.

He still didn't know anything about himself, when it came down to it. He knew funny stories about a guy named Dean who was apparently pretty cool and an awesome brother, and that was it.

He forced himself to calm down and take slow, long breaths. This was what Doctor Moseley had warned him about. The last thing he wanted was some kind of breakdown, especially with his family there to freak out.

"Dean?"

Cas' hand on his arm steadied him, and he gave them a pained smile.

"Sorry. I guess I expected it would all come back but..."

"We'll have to wait," Cas replied evenly. "You've only seen the living room".

He was right, Dean told himself. Relax. He had to relax. If he stressed himself, the freaky block in his mind or whatever that was keeping him from accessing his memories would probably grow stronger.

So he nodded and they began exploring. Not that there was much to explore; but still, the apartment wasn't extremely small, and he even had a guest room for when Sam came over to visit.

He distinctly remembered Cas mentioning his father's house and wondered why they simply didn't stay there then.

He decided not to ask in favour of looking at the kitchen.

Alright, if the pristine state of it was anything to go by, he was probably a germ freak; but he certainly didn't feel like one, so he maybe just liked his kitchen a lot. And it was nice enough with its pale yellow walls and the sunlight filtering through the windows.

All in all, the whole apartment was good enough. It just didn't feel much like him.

At least he had a coffee machine, and he quickly offered to make them all coffee. Luckily, there were enough cream and sugar packets in his drawers.

Seeing his apartment had certainly not abated his sudden taste for sugared coffee, Sam observed, but he wasn't overwhelmed or scared, and he took it as a plus even when he was a little disappointed that he had shown no signs of recognizing his own place.

They had to be patient, he knew. But it was difficult when Dean was casually dropping one more spoonful of sugar in his coffee, having tasted it after one and still declaring it too bitter.

Cas, with his typical calm attitude, hadn't even twitched. They were sitting close, so close that now and then their thighs had to brush, but neither gave it away.

Sam considered using an excuse to leave them alone, but knowing them, nothing would happen, so he might as well stay.

After they had coffee, Dean asked, "Can we go to my shop?"

He really wanted to spend a little more time in his apartment, but he also really wanted to see his garage, and he'd sleep here tonight anyway. He was curious about this place that apparently meant a lot to him.

"Of course," Sam replied evenly. Before, Dean had always had trouble to say "my garage", mainly because Dad kept coming over and checking to make sure everything was in order. He hadn't had any contact with him outside of the hospital, so he had no idea if he'd hung around there in the last few days as well.

Or if he was there now.

It shouldn't matter, of course, and Sam chose not to care. Dad had barely spent time with Dean anyway; if he happened to be in their way, it was his own fault.

Dean tried to remember the way, but found that he had no idea where they were going. He knew he lived in Lawrence, Kansas because he had been told so; but it seemed like any other town he had seen on TV, like a town was supposed to look. There were no familiar sights on this drive he took at least twice a day, five days a week.

It was more than disconcerting, but he had to keep calm. He didn't want to go back to hospital because he'd had a freak out.

They stopped in front of the garage and Dean tried to hide his surprise at how old and run-down the building was. He hadn't expected his shop to be big and imposing, but he'd hoped for something that didn't look like it could collapse any minute.

No wonder that drawer had fallen on him.

Was he really that bad of a business man? If so, why was he still in business to begin with?

Sam saw the dismay on his brother's face and cursed himself for not having prepared him more. Not only had he chosen to only tell him good stuff, but he had also allowed himself to be mislead by the knowledge he had of Dean – he would never have reacted to the shop as he did now, because of the memories he associated with it.

Memories that were gone.

He was an idiot.

Once again, it was Cas who came to his rescue.

"Your father is very attached to the shop," he said softly. "You decided not to change anything because you didn't want to distress him".

It was a white lie at best – Dean would never even have considered changing anything – but it worked and Dean wouldn't be too angry once he remembered, Sam hoped.

When they walked towards the door, they found a sign stuck in the window.

 _Closed until further notice due to an accident._

It was printed out, but it wasn't difficult to recognize the tense, no-nonsense style.

Sam was incredibly thankful to Bobby. He hadn't even spared the shop one thought. He had no idea if Dean had been working on any car at the time of his accident, whether or not customers were waiting; neither had Cas said a word about it. It was just like Bobby to take care of everything and stay silent, never expecting thanks.

It couldn't have been Dad because he would have wanted it open – Sam wouldn't put it past him to attempt to open it himself.

He had Dean's keys, of course, had carried them around with him since he'd moved into his apartment after the accident. He was giving his brother time, however; it was clear that he was trying to remember, trying to see something more than an old building that looked like it would be torn down sooner rather than later.

He wasn't going to disturb his thoughts, and his eyes found Cas'. He could read the same worry in them that he felt.

Dean was confused. He certainly had imagined his business to look somewhat different, but at least someone had gone to the trouble of putting up a sign. His money was on Bobby or Dad, since neither Cas nor Sam had mentioned anything.

He desperately attempted to find anything in the crumbling facade that would spark a memory, but there was nothing and he was getting a headache, as well as feeling his chest compression again, so he simply said, "Time to go in, I suppose".

He had underestimated, no, he had never really paid a thought to, his reaction upon seeing the drawer that was responsible for all this mess to begin with.

It was lying in the middle of the room; he supposed it had been moved by the rescue drivers and simply left there.

He had cuts and bruises all over him, so he shouldn't be surprised at the blood he found, but somehow he was.

The drawer looked big and heavy.

If he'd been a little less lucky he would be dead.

He felt queasy and of course Sam and Cas were at his side immediately, holding him up. He made no attempt to shake them off, instead concentrating on his breathing as Doctor Moseley had told him and calming himself down.

When he felt alright again, he took a step back and smiled.

"It's alright".

"Are you sure? We can – "

"It's just a stupid drawer. I'll be fine". He looked at it once more to convince himself that he could.

"Ugly, isn't it? Gonna throw that out".

Sam nodded, perhaps a little too excitedly, but since he had grown used to his brother acting like a bouncy puppy whenever he was happy about something, he didn't mind.

He turned his head and slowly took in the rest of the room.

Tools were hanging around, there was an old desk – well, to be honest, everything looked old except for the tools. He supposed he hadn't been able to find an excuse not to displace them.

He was irritated, angry at himself. What was he thinking, spending his life in such a dump? And why had Sam and Cas told him he could do no wrong, basically, when he was incapable of modernizing a dangerous work-space? He'd almost died, for crying out loud!

His chest felt compressed and he sat down on the one chair he hoped would not break.

"Dean?"

He ignored Sam's question and took his pain medication out of the pocket he'd carefully stowed it in before they left the apartment. He had been told to take one every few hours, and that he could take up to three extra pills a day if he felt the need; and right now he definitely felt the need.

Before he could ask, a glass of water was pushed into his hand, Cas' gaze patient and sympathetic. He smiled at him gratefully and swallowed the pill, leaning back in the chair.

"Just my chest," he said. "Be alright once the pill kicks in."

Sam nodded. "Do you want to go back?"

He shook his head. "Nah. Want to take a good look at the place before it falls apart".

He'd meant it as a joke, but it still fell flat, and Sam bit his lip. He was about to answer when the door opened and Dean heard heavy footsteps coming towards them.

"Hello, Sam. Dean".

Dad.

He turned around and looked at his father. He didn't like what he saw. His eyes were bloodshot, indicating that he'd spent the last night drunk, he hadn't shaved in days, and his clothes were dirty.

He wondered where he had spent the night. Couldn't have been at his own home, otherwise he could have changed.

He'd ignored Cas as well, and that might have angered Dean more than he would have liked to admit.

"Hi, Dad," he said, and tried not to notice how much less heartfelt it sounded than when he'd called Bobby that word.

"Back in business, I see," he answered, and Dean stared, unable to believe that his father expected him to open up the shop. Must be a joke.

He laughed.

"Yeah, well, as soon as we throw that thing out and I relive thirty years of memories, we're good to go".

Dean stared at the drawer with horror. He supposed it wasn't exactly tactful to point out that something in his father's beloved garage had caused his injuries. He must be feeling guilty as hell.

"Looks really stable. No wonder no one noticed it was about to fall over," he provided. After he'd gotten over his initial shock, he had apparently no problems looking at or talking about the chest.

Sam's heart squeezed painfully in his chest when he saw his brother comfort his father for the wrong reason. Dean, of course, thought that the reminder of his stay in the hospital made Dad uncomfortable.

If only Sam could have deceived himself the same way.

"We just wanted to show Dean the garage," he said, aware that Dad had yet to acknowledge Cas' presence.

Thankfully, the mention of his former shop immediately got his father talking, as he beckoned Dean close and began a long-winded story about the business that had always been his dream.

It was obvious that Dean was listening out of the desire to be nice to his father rather than because of real interest; and it was equally obvious that it must be so, since Dad's story centred around himself, while Dean was still trying to understand who he was. And he had been less than happy about the appearance of the shop.

Once things got back to normal, Sam vowed, he'd do everything in his power to make Dean change it according to his tastes. If he had to forego a few months of searching for employment in order to make his brother happy, so be it.

Dean listened to everything his father had to say, but sadly could find nothing that meant anything to him. It was nice to know when exactly the shop had been opened – 1982, when he had been three years old – and that Dad had fulfilled a life-long dream of his, but it told him little regarding himself and that, although selfish, was his main object at the moment.

He gave his father credit that he wanted to make him remember having heard all of this before, though, so he smiled and nodded.

Even if he still thought the building needed a makeover.

The pill had worked, and he no longer had a headache, but as his doctors had predicted, he was feeling a little bit tired. Cas noticed, naturally.

"Dean," he said eagerly, stepping up and interrupting Dad, "are you alright? Should we go back?"

"Just a little tired, is all. Doctors said I would be. Plus, I want to visit Bobby". He then reflected that he knew precious little about himself and that Sam and Cas might very well be more apt at realizing that he needed a break than he was.

"If that's alright with you," he continued, and for a moment, Sam's eyes widened in astonishment. He then cleared his throat and said, "Sure. Why not? He'll want to see you anyway".

Dean agreed with him and he couldn't deny that he wanted to see the older man himself, regrettably more so than he desired to see his father again in the immediate future.

The father who looked rather flustered.

"Well, then, in this case – say him to him for me, would you?" And then he left, mumbling something to himself that Dean supposed were excuses.

Had Dad and Bobby had a fight? Dean had, until now, assumed they were friends. It would certainly explain why he and his brother were so close to Bobby. But Dad obviously didn't want to meet him.

The salvage yard was messy but, unlike the garage, well-kept. Sam parked where he wanted, claiming that Bobby wouldn't care, and they could already hear someone hammering away when they exited the car.

 _Fixing dents_ , Dean thought automatically, without even having wondered what Bobby was doing.

It was practical, this instinctive knowledge, although it was frustrating too. Why couldn't he remember when he'd learned all that stuff?

They moved towards the noise, Dean eagerly looking around.

For a place that was full of barely-functioning cars, it had a strange homey feel to it. Dean could very well imagine him and Sam running around as children.

The trouble was that he was only imagining it, not remembering.

It didn't matter though, because the moment they entered the work shop, Bobby looked up and let the hammer drop with a smile, coming forward to hug him and inquire how he was doing. He didn't give him the feeling that he had to remember, like his Dad; he just wanted to be there for him until he did.

"63 Ford Galaxie?" he asked, looking at the car Bobby had been working on.

He nodded; if he was surprised that Dean had known, he didn't show it.

Dean moved instinctively. He was at the car before another word passed his lips, glancing at the dents in the hood Bobby had been working on and checking out the motor.

"The conveyor belt needs to be replaced".

"Really?" Bobby asked sarcastically, but without venom in his voice. "And I thought it wasn't working 'cause of the dents. My bad".

Dean flashed him a smile that was returned before he continued to look over the car. It really was beautiful, but not as well cared for as the Impala, that he'd taken quite a liking to since sitting down in it the first time.

He actually wanted to drive, he realized. Cas and Sam had both told him more than once that he was a competent and passionate driver, so he'd look upon this new-found desire as a good thing. But he was still taking medication. Better to wait a little longer.

"A new coat of paint..." he mumbled to himself as his hands felt the dents on the hood.

"That's what I've been telling the owner. He's stubborn, though. Keeps talking about 'authenticity'".

"Good luck with that when the paint just falls off one day because it decided it was better to die than try and hold on," Dean said. "Really, what's the use of an old motor when you don't take care of it? There's a reason there are university courses in restoration – "

He stopped because until now he'd never really thought about university. Or why he had never visited one. He'd no idea what he'd been like at school, but he assumed someone like Cas wouldn't have become his friend if he'd been a slacking troublemaker. And to be honest, he kind of liked the idea of going to college.

And he'd worked on the Impala, so apparently he as good at restoring cars. Why not study it and make it his specialty? Why not build up a business with that, instead of trying to make do in the old shop?

He was certainly questioning his career choices.

He realized he'd been silent for too long and cleared his throat.

"Anyway, it's goddamn stupid".

Bobby, who thankfully ignored his pause, chuckled.

"What can I say? Some people just don't know how to appreciate the good things in life."

Cas watched their exchange and wondered what Dean would say when he saw his Lincoln. When he had bought it, his friend had been very outspoken on the subject; and to be honest, he hadn't stopped criticizing it since.

From anyone else, it would have been annoying, but when Dean complained, Cas could only find it endearing.

He had long known that his feelings for his best friend would cause trouble eventually, and watching him interact with Bobby, feeling his heart beat faster just at seeing him smile, Cas admitted to himself that he had not made the least bit of progress getting over them.

If his sweating palms were any indication, quite the opposite, in fact.

Bobby and Dean discussed the car for a few more minutes, then he invited them into his house for coffee. None of them mentioned that it was done so that Dean could have a good look around.

Dean felt better than he had in his apartment or the garage. Not because he remembered stuff or because the place seemed familiar – it just felt safe. He practically felt at home here.

He figured he and Sam had spent a lot of time here when they were kids. It made sense with how close they were to Bobby, and certainly, after they'd met, Cas had been no stranger here.

They stayed for over two hours, mainly because Bobby insisted that Dean take it slow and that he should look around some more – Dean suspected that he just wanted him around, to make sure he was fine, and he obliged. He even helped Bobby with the car, even though he wouldn't allow him to pick up something heavier than a wrench.

Dean grew to appreciate Bobby even more in these two hours. Despite his rough exterior, he cared deeply for the brothers and Cas, and he wasn't afraid to show it.

At the end of their visit, when it became obvious that Dean wasn't wholly recovered and should get some rest, Bobby pulled him aside. He had a serious look on his face.

"Listen, boy..." he began, then stopped. Dean waited. He had the feeling Bobby didn't like to be pushed.

"You went to the garage".

Dean frowned. They had already told him. Why did he need to speak with him about it? Alone? Was he apologizing for closing the shop without telling them?

"I should have cleaned up. You should never have seen – I wanted to clean up. But..." he stopped again. His jaw clenched and Dean understood.

Bobby had been the one to find him, and his blood on the drawer and floor had been a reminder of that day. No wonder he hadn't been able to go near it.

He spontaneously pulled the older man into a hug. He seemed surprised, but hugged back.

"It's alright. I get it," he assured him, pulling back. "We can do it later".

Bobby nodded, and Dean said nothing about the few tears that glittered in his eyes. "You go get some rest. I'll call".

He nodded and they left.

"How's Jess doing?" Dean asked on the way back. He hadn't asked about his brother's girlfriend in a while and felt he should, especially since because of him Sam couldn't be there for her at the moment.

"She's freaking out."

"That's normal. I bet you were too."

"I called you four times the day before my bar exam," Sam admitted.

"And, did it help?"

"You teased me mercilessly."

"Did you expect anything else?"

"I knew better".

Dean chuckled and his eyes found Cas' in the rear view mirror. His friend was smiling at him fondly. Breathing suddenly became difficult, and it had nothing to do with his chest.

He really had to get that under control.

When they arrived at the apartment, Sam and Cas insisted that he lay down, and since his headache had made a reappearance, he decided it was for the best. He was allowed to take the next pill, so he did before he lay down on his back – his chest injury preventing him from rolling over – and was soon asleep.

Cas saw Sam's shoulders slump as Dean left the room, the facade he'd been holding up slowly crumbling. He knew his friend had been too optimistic. It had been tempting to think that Dean would take one look around and remember everything, and Sam had allowed himself to fall into the trap.

Everything he could say had surely already crossed Sam's mind as he tried to cheer himself up, so Cas began to make them dinner, silently supporting him.

Eventually Sam joined in, chopping the vegetables he was determined to make Dean eat, and said "Thanks".

He needed no explanation what for.

Dean stumbled into the kitchen two hours later, looking sheepish for having slept too long, but they both waved away his apologies.

It was during dinner that Dean realized this wasn't the end of the world. He was disappointed; he couldn't deny it; he had hoped for much, and what had he gottem? Nothing. He had a shop that was falling apart, a brother and adopted uncle who loved him very much, a best friend who... he wasn't going to go there, and a father who didn't know what to do with him.

But at the moment, everything was alright.

They were eating the ragout Cas had made (Sam eying him every time he took a bite of the cooked vegetables that went with it) and just relaxed. They talked, they joked, they laughed.

It was okay.

He might not have his memories, but he had a family.

And for the moment, that was all that mattered.

The weekend passed quietly. Dean looked at every picture, home video and other memorabilia Sam, Cas, and Bobby could find. Even their father showed up, clutching a few pictures of them and their mother, reluctant to lessen his grip on them for more than a minute.

Sadly, Dean still felt like he was seeing them for the first time; and, other than a passing regret that he would never meet her, he didn't grieve much for his mother's death.

He wondered if this made him a bad person, but then Cas, who had of course guessed what he was thinking of, suddenly blurted out, "Once Gabriel tried to steal your wallet, and it had a picture of your mum in it, so you punched him in the face right in the cafeteria, and he fell into the line and dragged three students down with him".

It was such a non sequitur that Dean couldn't help but laugh.

Sam offered Cas stay the night – not without throwing Dean a glance to ask whether he was alright with it – but their friend declined, insisting that he should be heading back home now.

It was Cas' way of giving them space, and Dean appreciated it. He couldn't neglect his brother over a crush he shouldn't indulge in.

He hugged Cas before he left, though. Hugging was normal. Hugging was what friends did. And they were best friends, so this should be something they did on a regular basis.

Apparently it was not, because Cas stiffened in his arms before hugging back. His smile gave Dean hope that he hadn't taken it badly, however.

Dean was still Dean. It was the one thought that had gotten Sam through this weekend whenever his brother did or said something out of character.

Sometimes it wasn't bad; like now. Dean had always been over-conscious of his personal space (while more or less allowing Cas to breathe the same air as him, the logic of which Sam had always failed to grasp) but he seemed just as open to show his affection physically as he was to speaking about his feelings.

Cas left after the hug, looking somewhat struck and more enamoured than ever, and Dean turned around to smile at Sam.

Sam didn't bring it up. He didn't want to make him uncomfortable. He wanted him to feel good and happy, to remember the feeling of allowing himself to do so when he was back to normal.

Since Cas had left them alone to bond, Sam was determined not to let the opportunity slide.

Dean was feeling better – he had barely complained about his chest or head today, and he'd slept long and well – so that they sat in the living room for hours.

"Brady did what?" Dean laughed, disbelieving, and Sam shrugged his shoulders.

"There are worse things than to have a friend accidentally inform a professor that I thought his legal opinion was wrong. And he introduced me to Jess, so I guess we're even".

"I would have loved to see this go down. You must have been beet-red when you first talked to her, Sammy".

He probably had been, but he wasn't about to admit it. So he continued with stories of his university life.

Eventually, Dean grew thoughtful, and after knowing him all his life, Sam knew what was coming.

"We're really close, aren't we? You haven't mentioned me visiting you at all. Hard to believe that I would pass up an opportunity to see Stanford".

But that was exactly what had happened. Dean worked the whole year – Sam suspected that, if not for him and Bobby, he would work through Christmas and other holidays too without Dad finding it the slightest bit odd – and he had never taken the time to drive or fly to Stanford. Even though Sam was still sure that Dad would easily have been able to take over the shop for a few days, no matter what he said; and of course Dean had always refused Bobby's offer of looking after it so he could go see Sam.

Sam would have loved him to see Stanford.

Dean knew Jess not half as well as Sam would have liked. And it wasn't just her; he was ready to bet that Dean would have gotten along with all of his friends. Dean, of course, would have argued the opposite. He'd always laughed and told him, "You got all the nerdy genes, they wouldn't know what to do with dumb old me".

The last thing Sam wanted now was to give Dean the impression that he hadn't wanted to see him – or the exact one of himself that he'd always had: being too stupid to go within a hundred square miles of college.

"You had a lot of work".

"Apparently not on the shop," Dean shot back, then looked away guiltily. "Sorry. Didn't mean to – "

"Don't apologize, please. Dad wants the shop to stay the way it was when Mum was alive, and you –" Sam had trouble to think of a word that wasn't "obeyed" – "humoured him. After all, you still rem – "

He stopped and flushed. This wasn't exactly how he'd wanted to approach the topic.

Dean smirked.

"It's alright".

He wanted to hear about his mother, but Dad had been very hesitant when it came to her, and Sam had lost her when he was six months old.

It still brought nothing, no sense of grief or loss, to think about her death. He knew it must mean something to him because he had her picture on his nightstand; but other than the fact she had been pretty and had had an open, affectionate face, he couldn't say much about her.

Neither could Sam, because apparently they'd never talked about her much. Which was really weird in Dean's opinion, but then again, Dad had apparently been mourning her for over twenty-five years.

Dean could understand that it must be difficult to lose the love of one's life.

But sitting here, watching Sam struggling to recall every scrap of information he had ever managed to learn about their mother, he couldn't help but think that Dad could have found better ways of coping than not alluding to her ever and insisting that the shop stayed the same.

Still, it was pretty cool to hear that Mum had made tomato rice soup when he was ill and had sung "Hey Jude" to him instead of some lame lullaby.

He could tell Sam was growing uncomfortable with the stuff he didn't know though, so Dean changed the subject.

"Any chance you're gonna let me drive the Impala without me remembering a single driving lesson?"

The look of horror on Sam's face didn't pass even as he brought up his Spanish skills, but a few seconds later they were laughing.

Things were going rather well, Dean concluded when he went to bed. The only thing he was really worrying about was his crush on Cas, and he would get that under control soon enough.

Doctor Moseley would have been proud. Not that he planned to tell her about his feelings for his best friend. She would have a field day.

He looked through his wardrobe. He had wondered if what Sam had brought him had been a representative sample of his clothes, and apparently it was. He hadn't known a man could own that much plaid. Not that he didn't like it, he was just a little surprised. The band shirts were pretty cool, though.

Opening a drawer of his nightstand, he found one of his questions answered. He found an eBook reader, almost fully charged (expensive then, if the battery worked that long). When he clicked on the library, he found a list of what must have been hundreds of books.

He smiled. He'd known he liked to read without being told. It was a start.

He randomly opened _Slaughterhouse-Five_ and started to read.


	7. Chapter 7

The weekend, if without breakthrough on the memory front, passed pleasantly enough. Thankfully, his Monday appointment with Doctor Moseley was in the afternoon. He had soon discovered that he preferred to sleep in; in fact, on Sunday he didn't venture out of his bedroom until one pm, causing Sam to come look for him and cheerfully waking him up. Nerd probably woke up as soon as the sun rose.

By Monday morning (well, when he got up) Dean was no longer freaking out at the prospect of living his life; he was, however, growing more and more frustrated, the anger at his inability to recall anything he'd thought he had under control resurfacing stronger than ever. His family and friends were great – giving him space and allowing him to simply relax instead of urging him to try harder – but he'd had enough. He wanted to truly know these people, not simply take their concern and worry and love for granted.

Cas had spent the whole weekend with them, apart from going home to sleep, and Dean had felt his new-found resolution to get over his crush crumbling before he'd ever had a chance to try.

Cas was just so _nice_ , and _smart_ , and it didn't hurt that he was easy on the eyes.

 _Very_ easy on the eyes.

He shook himself out of it and started on the coffee. It was nearly eleven and Sammy hadn't risen yet. He must be exhausted after the week he'd had.

His phone woke him, and looking at the time, he thought it must be Jess, but to Sam's surprise he didn't recognize the number.

"Samuel Winchester?"

"Yes?" he asked, still somewhat groggy.

"This is the Deanery of the University of Stanford. I am sorry to inform you that there appears to be a problem with your application to your bar exam."

"What?" Sam inquired, fully awake now. "I handed in everything – "

"In which case it wasn't processed correctly. This will have no bearing on your exam, but we still have to run the necessary papers – "

"I'll mail them to you," Sam said quickly, intent on keeping the conversation short. He didn't have time for bureaucracy, not with Dean –

"I am sorry, Mr. Winchester, but several of the papers need to be signed".

"I have an e-signature, or I can sign them and scan them – "

"That will not be possible".

After a further fifteen-minute discussion, Sam was faced with the fact that he would have to return to Stanford in order to sign papers, which really shouldn't be necessary in today's society.

He didn't want to have five miles between him and Dean, not to mention the distance to Stanford. Dean had another session scheduled today, and his memories didn't seem to be coming back. Dean needed him.

He walked into the kitchen. Dean turned around with a smile that immediately dropped as he saw his expression.

"Sammy? I heard you talking on the phone. Is Jess alright?"

Leave it to Dean to worry about someone he, as far as he remembered, had never met. Sam smiled weakly as he answered, "No. Everything's alright".

"Yeah, right. You look like you got told – " Dean froze. "It's not about the exam?"

"Yes, but not in the way you're thinking". Sam quickly explained, and Dean let himself fall on a chair, huffing.

"That's what's got you all worried? Documents? It's annoying sure, but... I thought your building had burned down or something!"

"They are forcing me to leave, to go to Stanford for something I could just send them, and that when you are – "

"When I'm what? I'm not an invalid, Sam".

Apparently he had chosen the wrong words, because Dean was starting to get angry.

"And this is about your future. I'll be fine. There's Cas and Bobby and Jody – " He noted that Dean hadn't mentioned Dad, "and if you really think that I'll let you – "

"Wouldn't you want to stay with me if I had amnesia?" he asked, regretting it immediately. Dean didn't remember how close they were.

"Of course I would. I'm not saying I don't understand you. I really do. And it's very nice and brotherly that you want to stay, but you won't be gone long".

Sam was taken aback by Dean's easy acceptance of his worries as something due to him as his older brother.

Taken aback and overjoyed, but he wasn't going to tell him.

"So – "

"So you take a flight and make sure you get to be the best lawyer ever. And..." Dean trailed off and Sam recognized the expression on his face. It meant that Dean was about to suggest something Sam wouldn't like, but what he considered was best for him.

"Jess' exam is on Wednesday, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"It's Monday. Stay with her till then".

"Dean – "

"She needs you, too," Dean reminded him, "You can't put me above everything. Plus, it's not like you can do much about my amnesia. And we'll be texting and calling constantly anyway, if I've understood anything about us".

Sam couldn't disagree with that. And yet he didn't want to leave Dean. For the first time, his older brother allowed him to take care of him, and it was great to watch Dean finally accept the love and worry he was shown.

"Fine," he sighed, "But you keep me updated".

He rolled his eyes. "I just said we'd be texting all the time, Sammy".

He didn't know that Dean texting and Dean updating Sam honestly how he was doing had been very different things in past days.

Sam hugged him and went to book a flight.

Dean shook his head after the door to Sam's room had closed. The kid worried too much. Sure, it sucked that he had to leave for a few days, he was fond of his company, but it wasn't like he hadn't spent the better part of the last eight years getting educated miles away. They could manage.

He heard Cas unlocking the door and smiled. He hadn't been surprised to find that he had a set of keys and was in the habit of letting himself in.

"Hey, Cas".

"Hello, Dean".

It was always "Hello, Dean". Invariably so. It was another one of the small things that made Cas special.

To distract himself from the feeling, Dean told him about Sam. Cas frowned.

"One would think that in an advanced technological age, such problems should have vanished long ago".

He shrugged. "Apparently they haven't, and we need to deal with it. He's feeling guilty enough as it is. I told him to stay with Jess until after her exam."

"Wednesday is not too far away," Cas answered simply.

Dean felt another wave of fondness towards his friend and quickly turned away, using pouring him coffee as an excuse not to look at him. He refilled his own cup as well, throwing three spoons of sugar in it for good measure. He figured with his session coming up, he could treat himself a little.

"How are your chest and head?" Cas inquired.

"Okay, I guess. I didn't have to take a pill, so..."

Cas gave him his small, pleased smile again and Dean swallowed.

He wanted to kiss Cas, he suddenly realized, and it was ridiculous that this desire only now manifested when he had been pretty much staring at his best friend in a non-platonic way since he had woken up, but it was there and it was obviously making up for last time because suddenly all he could think of was taking that step and reaching out and –

"Dean?"

He'd zoned out. He shook his head and quickly passed Cas his cup. He tilted his head and stepped closer, and that didn't help. At all.

"You look flushed. Are you in pain? Do you need a pill after all?"

"No. I'm fine. Really". He remembered what they had been talking about before and added, "Just bummed that Sam's leaving".

Cas chuckled, but didn't step back.

"It is good to see you haven't changed".

He was used to his friend's bluntness by now.

"You mean I am still handsome, charming, and all-around wonderful?"

"I meant you are still overbearing and protective" Cas said matter-of-factly and Dean noticed that he had not tried to contradict "handsome".

He really hoped he wasn't blushing.

Cas had the feeling that Dean wasn't honest with him. He had experienced it a few times during the weekend, and had found that repetition didn't make him get used to it. Dean had never been open about his feelings, but he had never really lied to him.

Something was up. He was probably upset about Sam leaving, but there was something else too...

Before he could wonder about it more, Sam entered the kitchen and greeted him, informing them that his flight was in two hours.

"And you're sure that – "

Dean waved the question away.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Help Jess get out of this alive and bring her with you when you get back. Mind, don't drag her here immediately, though. She's gonna be exhausted on Wednesday".

After some squabbling, Sam agreed, and they decided that Cas would take Dean to his session while Sam packed and drove to the airport.

"I'll call Bobby," he promised and no one even mentioned their father. They parted with a hug in front of the apartment building, Sam promising that he would bring Jess with him on Thursday.

There was a strange, hollow feeling in his chest as he watched Sam drive away – Cas had insisted he take his car, so Dean could keep using the Impala – and it actually felt like he had known him his whole life and didn't like it when his little brother left him.

A good sign, he supposed.

It didn't help his frustration at all though, and he was thankful when Cas stayed quiet during the drive.

Doctor Moseley was already waiting for him, but a quick look at his watch assured him that he was on time.

"Good afternoon, Dean. How are you doing?"

This led to a rant against universities and their paperwork instead of telling her that he had made no progress, which should probably have been more important to him, but he couldn't help it.

He was surprised to see a small smile on her face after he had calmed down.

"Sam means a lot to you".

"I guess," he said. "It's difficult because he's got all the memories I'm supposed to share, but – yeah, he means a lot to me".

"So nothing has come back to you?"

There it was. He shook his head.

"I've been trying, with pictures and videos, but no." Before she could say anything, he continued, "I haven't been stressing myself out. Promise. Everyone's been great. Mostly I'm just...annoyed".

Alright, maybe he was a little scared of the doctor who seemed to be able to read his mind.

The session progressed smoothly. Doctor Moseley wouldn't allow him to give up yet, telling him to relax and let things progress naturally and see her once or twice a week. He should try what he could do – and Dean was on board with that, thinking of the Impala – and perhaps even contemplate going back to work, if it came as easy to him as his language skills and general knowledge.

He told her he'd think about it, even if he did feel rather nervous at the prospect.

All in all, he supposed everything could have gone much worse. He was still able to function, and he'd had a "support system" to fall back on, as Doctor Moseley called it.

And yet... there was something gnawing at his mind, although he only understood after he had sat down in the Impala's passenger seat once more (baby steps – he wasn't going to jump right into driving a car around) and had answered Cas' questions about the session.

Doctor Moseley had reminded him of work. Work he hadn't been able to do.

He wasn't stupid. He knew from the condition of his shop and his small apartment that he didn't have a lot of money.

So who was paying for his therapy? His insurance couldn't cover everything. Sam was a college student who could only attend Stanford due to scholarships.

His dad couldn't have more money than Dean himself.

Which left –

"Cas," he began slowly, unsure of how to approach the subject. Cas rarely talked about his family. Dean had no idea whether he was affluent or not, and neither did he know how much the university paid.

"Yes?" his best friend asked, never taking his eyes of the road. He was especially careful when driving the Impala, probably because the car was so important to Dean.

"Are you paying my bills?" He figured it was best to tackle the problem head on. Cas would understand. He frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"My medical bills, Cas. All that care has to be expensive and I don't think my insurance covers everything," he explained patiently.

Cas turned his head to stare at him wide-eyed.

"I hadn't thought of that".

"Then who – " And then Dean knew.

"Cas, the salvage yard. Now. And look at the road, please".

Bobby was working, of course, but that didn't stop Dean from jumping out of the Impala as soon as it stood still and rushing into the shop where he was busy with an engine.

"Dean?" he asked immediately, letting his tools drop, and he realized what he must look like.

"Everything's fine," he said, even though it was pretty far from the truth, "but – "

He stopped, having no idea how to continue. He didn't even know how he felt about the whole thing. He wasn't angry, but he also didn't want Bobby to spend all this money on him.

"Dean has been wondering who is paying for his treatments," Cas, who had caught up with him, supplied.

If he hadn't known better, he would have thought the older man blushed before turning his head away.

"Bobby, man, that's gotta be expensive. I've seen how my shop looks, there's no way I can afford insurance to cover my therapy – "

"Don't worry about it".

"Bobby – "

"I said," the older man interrupted him, looking at him again, his expression determined. "I've got enough money and no one to spend it on. You and your brother – and Cas', really – are the closest thing I have to children".

Neither of them knew how to continue, until Dean finally stammered, "Thank you".

He would have offered to pay him back eventually, but he was certain that Bobby wouldn't have appreciated it.

"No problem, boy. Just get better".

Dean later wouldn't be able to say who had hugged the other first, but suddenly they were hugging, and he was hit again by how Bobby seemed much more like his father than his actual dad.

He clumsily patted Dean's shoulder as they pulled apart, then cleared his throat.

"Anyway, how did the session go?"

And just like that any awkwardness between them disappeared.

"Sam's on his way back to Stanford?"

Dean nodded. "Had to convince him to leave".

"Wasn't easy, I imagine," Bobby replied, and Dean shook his head. He chuckled. "Never is".

Bobby made them coffee before they made their way back to the apartment, Dean realizing that he and Cas would spend some real time alone for the first time since he had left the hospital.

The thought should have made him neither as excited nor as nervous as it did.

Cas surprised him by parking a few streets away from his apartment.

"Do you want to drive the rest of the way?"

He swallowed. He really did, wanted to know what it felt like to steer the black beauty he had spent years caring for, and the streets weren't busy at the moment.

But he didn't know if he could, if driving would come to him like his other talents seemed to, and if it wouldn't...

Somehow he felt that not being able to drive after everyone had told him that it was one of his dearest hobbies would be worse than anything he'd yet done. Including calling Bobby "Dad".

"You can stop whenever you want," Cas continued, and the look in his eyes was soft and affectionate.

Especially what Dean didn't need at the moment, because it made him get lost in those eyes all the more.

He cleared his throat.

"If you think..."

"I'm sure you can do it," Cas interrupted him, and they switched places, his best friend unconcerned that he couldn't recall when they had met and yet would stir an old-timer through Lawrence's streets.

He hoped he could still remember the way home.

He took a deep breath as he touched the steering wheel.

His right foot bounced up and down, and he wondered how he was supposed to hit the gas nervous as he was, but Cas reached out and squeezed his knee lightly.

Dean stared at the hand on his leg. That was not something that friends did, surely? Cas invaded his personal space rather often, but he hadn't yet touched him in such a deliberate way. Was there history between them that Sam knew nothing about?

Cas let go and Dean realized that not only had he been staring at the hand the entire time it had laid on his knee, but also that Cas had left it there longer than necessary.

He didn't look at Cas as he started the car.

He gently pressed on the gas and that was it.

He could drive. He felt it as soon as the car moved, as the wheels turned smoothly, no bumps on the asphalt to speak of; and as the world rushed by, he forgot about everything but that he was driving this beautiful car with a beautiful man next to him, Led Zeppelin playing on the radio.

Cas knew he shouldn't have touched Dean like that. It hadn't been a conscious decision. He had wanted to calm him down, to reassure him; but he hadn't thought about touching his knee until he had watched himself doing it, the warmth of Dean's body seemingly spreading into his through his palm.

It was such an intimate gesture, the touch of a lover, not a friend, and yet he couldn't bring himself to withdraw his hand for several seconds.

At least Dean started the car and drove, and it quickly became clear that they shouldn't have worried about his driving.

He looked so relaxed, carefree, perhaps even more so than he usually did in his Baby, and Cas stared, mesmerized.

Thankfully Dean kept his eyes on the road, rather than constantly letting them wander to the passenger seat as he was wont to do.

It had felt so natural to touch Dean, as if Cas had a right to. As if he did it all the time. As if they were –

He resolutely looked out the window. Nothing could come of such thoughts.

Dean woke up from a kind of trance when he parked the car; not that he hadn't been aware of what he was doing; he had simply driven the way something had told him was right and enjoyed the car and Cas' presence.

A little too much, if he was being honest, but hey, he could drive. It was something.

He was still too conscious of Cas as they climbed up the stairs. He was close enough to lay a hand around his shoulders –

Thankfully they reached his front door before he could do so against his better judgement.

"What do you want to do?" Cas asked as soon as they had closed the door behind them. It was obvious that Sam had asked him to stay while he was away.

Dean really wanted to be alone with Cas, but he also really didn't want that, so he stayed silent, confused.

"Dean?"

He blushed when he realized he'd been staring into air for several moments and cleared his throat.

"I don't really feel like going out – how about take out and watching movies?"

He'd started going through his movie collection over the weekend, Sam and Cas eager to assist. He had to admit that he liked _Star Wars_ and _Indiana Jones_ and _Die Hard_ , but he was a little disappointed at the lacking variety of it all – mostly action films and comedies. His eBook collection showed that he was interested in many subjects; shouldn't the movies he chose to buy do the same?

He was thankful that he was standing in front of the DVDs so Cas couldn't see his expression. His friend would have asked him to explain something he couldn't understand, a slight dissatisfaction that he felt whenever he thought about his life for too long. He wasn't even sure he could call it dissatisfaction; maybe uneasiness would fit better.

His mood improved when he found _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ among his DVDs. He had finished the book last night – he was getting quite good at handling the whole knowing stuff without remembering having done it before so that his knowledge of the plot hadn't fazed him, just like his ability to quote every line of _Die Hard_ hadn't bothered him.

"Let's see how it holds up compared to the book," he said, turning around with the DVD in his hands.

He knew immediately from Cas' expression that he had said something weird.

"I – I mean," he began to stutter, but Cas quickly stepped towards him.

"Don't stress yourself," he chided him, fondness obvious in his voice, and Dean told himself that his heart was beating faster because he was doing exactly that. No other reason.

"I'm just surprised you read the book. I didn't know".

"It's on my EBook reader," Dean shrugged, "And I recognized it the way I recognize things, so I must have".

Cas' face grew passive. Anyone else wouldn't have been able to read his expression, but Dean had stared at him enough since he had woken up to recognize the slight widening of the eyes as surprise.

He wondered why no one knew that he had an EBook reader, or that he even liked to read. Seriously, he'd apparently read classics as well as books that appeared on the New York Times bestseller list for a few weeks and then disappeared, never to be talked of again.

It wasn't shameful, for crying out loud. So why had he hidden his appetite for literature as if it was? It didn't make sense.

Cas came to his rescue by offering to call for takeout and suggesting that he put the DVD in, and as he did so, it dawned on him that his feelings were slowly but surely growing bigger than a crush.

It was pathetic; he'd been upset over nothing, Cas had calmed him down and now, when he was putting the DVD in the player, he realized that he was falling for him. No crush. No infatuation.

He was falling in love with Cas.

Freaking out over people not knowing that he was a bookworm seemed like the much better option now. At least it didn't have consequences.

But Cas... They were best friends. They had never been more, according to Sam, and they never would be, because something would surely have happened between them until now if they were.

He didn't even know if Cas liked men. Probably not.

Also, he'd most likely die of embarrassment the moment he remembered.

That would be the good conclusion to all of this.

If his feelings stayed the same, though... if he had to pretend that he wanted nothing more from his best friend for the rest of his life –

"One could come to the conclusion that you have already decided it is impossible to adapt the book based on how angrily you're staring at the menu," Cas said, sitting down next to him on the sofa.

Surely it wasn't necessary to sit that close together? But Cas always sat close to him. He wished he could calm his wildly beating heart, but wasn't successful. At all.

Thankfully he could always use the movie as a distraction.

He recognized it the way he recognized anything that wasn't people or memories, of course, but that didn't take away the freshness of it, or his discussion with Cas whether it had been worth it to change the story so that it was structured rather than episodic.

"I get it, Cas, it's different from the book," Dean said for the hundredth time, "but it still gets it. It shows the source material's spirit, and Douglas wrote the screenplay anyway..."

Cas huffed. "I am aware of that, but I still feel it should have been closer to the book – "

"How? It would only be them stumbling around, running into adventures."

"What's wrong with that?"

Dean shook his head at his best friend, who had tilted his head and was studying him with exasperated affection.

Dean found himself staring at his lips before quickly turning his head away.

What was he thinking?

He knew Cas was frowning without seeing him, but just as his friend started to ask what was wrong, his phone rang.

It was Sam. Dean tried not to feel relieved as he answered.

"Hey, Sammy".

"I just wanted to tell you I got there safely".

"I didn't doubt your ability to find your apartment." Dean replied. Sam hesitated slightly before answering, and Dean made a mental note to ask Cas about it afterwards. Apparently he'd said something out of character again.

"I already spoke with the secretary – by the time I arrived it was of course too late to do anything, but I'm going to sign the papers first things in the morning". He paused and Dean said, "You know the plan. Stay. Cuddle Jess. Bring her here after her exam. How's she doing, by the way?"

"Freaking out," Sam answered. His girlfriend entered their kitchen and shot him a dirty look.

"I am not 'freaking out', Sam Winchester, and if you don't alert your brother to this fact immediately, I will personally make sure there is never another salad in our fridge".

"I like her," Dean said immediately, and Sam realized that, as far as he knew, he had just heard Jess' voice for the first time. He was tempted to let her speak to him, but he didn't want to force Dean to make small talk with someone he didn't know. It was all he did when he met people from his past anyway.

So he quickly asked what he and Cas were doing, and Dean was soon telling him about a movie adaptation of a book Sam would have bet he had never heard about. He didn't let his surprise show.

He and Cas were watching a movie; it was nothing to think about, since they had done so countless times before, but there was something in Dean's voice... Sam couldn't help but smirk. He was ready to deal with everything, even to forgive Dad for never allowing Dean to fix the shop, if he could eventually watch his brother be happy.

Sam promised once more that they would be back on Thursday before ending the call.

Jess had immediately agreed when he'd asked her to come back with him after her exam, and even though he'd attempted to protest, she had had none of it.

"Dean is family. My parents understand. They even wired me some money so you wouldn't be pressed because you keep flying across the country".

"I can't –"

"You will because this is a family emergency".

And that had ended that discussion.

"Dean and Cas are alone?" she inquired innocently, pouring herself more coffee. She deserved a little break, and she might as well spend it gossiping. Sam needed some relief from his worries.

He smiled and shook his head.

"What? You don't know what could happen..."

"Cas would never!" he exclaimed, horrified. The mere thought of his friend taking advantage of his brother's situation made his skin crawl. Cas would never – he wouldn't even think about it – true, he'd been in love with Dean for years...

"That's not what I meant!" Jess cried out, her eyes widening. "That's not what I meant at all," she repeated, in a calmer tone. "I don't know Cas as well as you do, but I've seen him with Dean, and he'd never do anything that he thinks might hurt him. If I said something might happen, I thought about Dean finally realizing he's in love with him, or falling in love with him all over again so that they can eventually get on with their love story".

"I didn't mean to imply that you wanted..." Sam mumbled, but she was already shaking her head, indicating that they needn't discuss the subject further.

She moved forward and gave him a gentle kiss.

"You should call Brady and the others. They've been very worried," she said softly before leaving the kitchen.

He resolved to do just that instead of speculating how his brother and friend were spending their time.

"Why did we order Chinese again?" Dean asked, failing yet again to pick up a bite with his chopsticks.

Cas sniggered next to him, and he shot him a dirty look.

"You want to try 'everything' if I remember correctly," he said, putting down his container to make quotation marks with his fingers, and an annoying professor should not have been that adorable.

"I'll have to get it to my mouth first, and that seems rather dubious at the moment," Dean answered. After another failed attempt, he looked at his friend and asked, tiredly, "Show me how it's done?"

Cas was glad that he had always been rather introverted so that he could keep his face void of any emotion. He had often seen Dean trying to use chopsticks, but his friend had never asked for help. Dean had never been fond of asking other people for anything.

So, without appearing too eager, he showed him patiently how to do it properly, and soon Dean was munching away to his heart's content, occasionally grinning at Cas.

He couldn't help but think about the moment before Sam had called, when Dean had been looking at him in an odd way, almost as if –

No. Even if Dean should be developing feelings for him, they wouldn't be real. Dean was heterosexual, he had never given Cas any reason to doubt it. Dean, in his state, needed to feel close to those he considered his family, and he mistook his affection for Cas for attraction. It would end as soon as he remembered.

Cas hated himself for desperately wanting Dean to look at him like that again, as if he contemplated leaning forward and...

"What did it do to you?" Dean inquired and Cas frowned at him.

"Your meal. The way you're staring at it... It's gonna turn sour before you have the chance to eat it all".

"Ha ha," Cas calmly replied and went back to eating. It was safer than to continue his thought process from before.

Dean wondered what had got into Cas. One minute, he was teaching him how to use chopsticks and happy when he succeeded, and then he stopped talking and began brooding.

Had he done something wrong? Maybe he had said something that reminded Cas of his amnesia.

Or Cas had guessed what he'd been thinking about before Sam called. Dean hoped not. It would only make things awkward, becoming even more so after he regained his memories.

What would his old self think, who'd known Cas since they were teenagers?

When he realized that he was thinking about his old self as another person, he stopped. He couldn't do that. He had to be that person, he was working to be that person again.

And Cas liked that person very much. Not that that had anything to do with it. Because he was totally getting over his feelings. Starting now.

But he really didn't want Cas to be angry with him.

"Cas? Wanna watch another movie?"

Cas smiled at him, Dean knew he was forgiven, and his wildly beating heart told him that getting over his feelings wouldn't be as easy as he would have liked to believe.


	8. Chapter 8

Bobby had a rather difficult time resisting the urge to drive to Dean's apartment.

The kid was fine, for crying out loud. He'd banged his head a little and now he had trouble with his memories, but that was absolutely no reason to start freaking out –

Who was he kidding. He hadn't stopped freaking out since he had entered the shop and found Dean.

 _He hadn't heard from or seen Dean in two days, and while this wasn't strange, he'd been acting a little weird lately, so he decided to take him out to lunch, if Cas hadn't brought him something already (and how Dean could still be convinced that there was nothing between them when Cas spent his own lunch break bringing him his meals, Bobby would never know). God knew he deserved a treat._

 _He owned a scrap yard. He'd seen his fair share of wrecked vehicles and had smelled enough left-over blood from accidents._

 _Never had it churned his stomach as it had when he walked in, calling for Dean, and became aware of the heavy smell in the room._

 _He looked around the room and saw the drawer._

 _And Dean's hand, poking out from underneath –_

 _He staggered forward without realizing, automatically pulling his phone out of his pocket._

 _He didn't expect Dean to have a pulse as he kneeled, waiting for the numbness he felt to leave, for pain and grief to seep through, when he felt Dean's heart beating._

" _And here I thought my day was going to be fine," Rufus' voice reached his ears, seemingly miles away, and Bobby shook himself out of his stupor. He didn't remember dialling._

" _Dean – there's been an accident. Come to the shop"._

 _He hung up. He'd never been more thankful that Rufus didn't live far from the garage and the scrap yard._

 _In the meantime, he called Jody._

" _It's going to be okay," he muttered as the phone rang, holding on to Dean's hand. "You're gonna be okay, boy"._

" _Hello, Bobby"._

" _A drawer fell on Dean in the shop. It's too heavy, I can't move it on my own. Rufus is on his way, can you call the paramedics?"_

 _He needed to get this thing off of Dean. He needed to see him breathe._

" _Of course," Jody replied, calm, professional. It was what Bobby needed._

" _Thank you," he said, and hung up without another word. He could apologize later._

 _He wouldn't be able to say later how long he had been waiting, but it couldn't have been more than a few minutes before Rufus' old car raced down the street and was parked next to Dean's in such a haphazard fashion that Dean would have thrown a hissy fit._

 _Rufus came in and Bobby let go of his boy's hand reluctantly._

 _They managed to get the drawer of him, and he swore that he would burn the damn thing._

 _Dean was lying still, his breathing was laboured. There was blood on his face and chest._

 _He looked lifeless._

 _They automatically put him in the recovery position, Bobby running his fingers through his hair afterwards, continuing to mumble assurances, for him or Dean, he couldn't say._

 _Rufus was holding onto his shoulder hard enough to leave bruises, but he didn't complain._

 _The paramedics arrived, Jody soon afterwards. Bobby barely paid attention and would have jumped into the Impala to follow the car immediately if she had not forced him to drink a glass of water and take a few breaths before Rufus drove him to the hospital._

The image of Dean lying there, Dean, who had always been so full of vivacity, wouldn't leave him.

His doorbell rang out and he forced himself off the couch.

He found Jody, wearing casual clothes, with a plastic bag that smelled delicious and a comforting smile.

"I wanted to make sure you ate a proper meal".

Damn, that woman knew the way to a guy's heart.

He really hadn't eaten much in the last week. Finding the kid you loved like your own almost dead didn't do much for your appetite.

Jody's cooking was delicious, though. And Bobby wanted someone to talk to.

"Dean came to see me today," he said, "Cas in tow, of course. Sam had to leave for a few days – Stanford screwed up some paperwork".

She nodded sympathetically, feeling that this was not what he wanted to talk about.

"Dean figured out I've been paying the bills".

She didn't look surprised. Of course she'd known, she was a damn fine officer.

"We talked and now he's okay with it. But – he won't be, once he remembers. You know how he is".

Dean would be appalled, thinking that this kind of money should not be spent on him, not understanding that Bobby would gladly have shouldered the responsibility of a parent when it came to the boys.

"It doesn't have to be like that," she argued, and he stared at her in amazement.

"I know I haven't been around much the past few days – " Her face coloured with shame simply because she had been working much, and Bobby reached out before he could think about it and took her hand.

"Trust me, Dean'll understand."

She smiled and continued, "But Dean has been surrounded by people who love him. He's seen how others see him. That has to go through that thick head of his."

Bobby chuckled. He still hadn't let go of her hand.

"I hope it will," he said, and he could see that she understood his other hope as well, the one he didn't want to talk about.

He was still holding her hand. She made no objection.

He cleared his throat.

"There's one other thing I wanted to talk about..."

They watched two more movies before deciding to call it a night, Dean spending most of his time watching the light of the television throwing shadows on Cas' face.

He had learned from Cas' reaction to his spontaneous hug that this was not something they did, so he was surprised when, as they were saying goodnight, his friend pulled him in his arms.

In the next moment, before he was even aware of it, he was squeezing him back, holding on firmly as if he was afraid of letting go.

When he realized, he let his arms drop to his sides immediately.

Cas took a step back, and even though they'd turned off most lights already, Dean could see that he was blushing. So perhaps he hadn't imagined Cas' other blushes after all...

But did that mean –

Before he had come to a decision, they had said goodnight and Cas had closed the door to the guest room behind him.

What just happened?

Dean went to bed, trying not to think about it.

He didn't succeed.

Cas leaned against the door, angry at himself. The last time Dean had hugged him, he had clearly shown his surprise at the show of affection, and now, just because he could, just because he was suspecting that Dean was wrongly assuming he had feelings for Cas, he had hugged him and left.

What gave him the right to sit as close to Dean as he had, and to hug him just like that?

Nothing. Nothing gave him the right, and nothing ever would.

He was pulling out his phone before he had made the conscious decision, desperate to talk to someone, anyone.

Sam obviously was not the person to call about his feelings for his brother, and how he was using his friend's amnesia to get close to him in a way he wouldn't appreciate, would maybe be angry at him for later; Gabriel was working a shift and besides, Cas didn't want to be told to "Just go with the flow, bro"; so that left Balthazar.

He only realized how late it had gotten when Balthazar answered, clearly having just woken up.

"Cassie?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize – "

"What's going on?"

Calm. Precise. Balthazar could be annoying, aggressive, and unpleasant if he wanted to be, but he had heard that Cas was upset and wanted to help.

Cas sighed. "It's – " he stopped because he didn't really know what "it" was.

"Dean's brother had to leave for a few days, and it's just him and me, and we..." he trailed off.

After a pause, Balthazar exclaimed, "You didn't!"

Cas would scarcely have been more disgusted with himself if he had. "No, I didn't. But – we are close – "

"You have been like Siamese twins since before I met you. I fail to see the problem".

"I think he thinks he might be developing a crush on me," Cas said quickly.

Another pause.

"Again, I fail to see the problem. You have been in love with him for years".

Cas was too stunned to reply. He had always prided himself on his ability to hide his feelings for his beautiful best friend. Gabriel knew because he wasn't comfortable keeping secrets from his brother, and it was not surprising that Sam, smart and intuitive and used to seeing them together since he was pre-pubescent, had noticed.

But Balthazar – he was Cas' friend and colleague. He had of course met Dean on a fair number on occasions. But he was certain – he had grown so used to not giving anything away that it had become his second nature. He would never act untowardly towards Dean.

Somehow, Cas knew Balthazar would be looking at him with pity if they were standing face to face.

"It's not that difficult to figure out," he continued. "I have been wondering why you aren't together, to be honest."

"Dean's straight."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

"Balthazar, you can't – " Cas took a deep breath and began again. "He is. And I have to control myself around him, even though he's giving me signs that he might be interested. He can't really feel what he thinks towards me. Otherwise, it would have happened before. He's not himself right now and I can't take advantage of that fact".

"You aren't. And I'm sure you won't. I know you, Cassie. Trust me."

He felt himself growing a little calmer at those words. He had needed the reassurance that he was a decent human being who would under no circumstances use Dean's "crush" against him.

"Thank you," he said honestly, and Balthazar sighed.

"Honestly, you'll be the death of me. Night, Cassie. Let me know how it's going".

He promised he would and they hung up.

Although Balthazar had told him nothing but what he wanted to hear, Cas felt better.

Dean soon found that apparently a hug was enough to make his heart beat wildly in his chest, and he had to read for half an hour before he became calm enough to attempt to sleep.

Eventually, he succeeded.

 _They were sitting at a pier._

" _I don't understand, Dean," Cas said, his voice laced with infinite patience, "we have never gone fishing before. And you don't even like fish"._

" _Thought I'd try," he answered simply, shrugging._

" _Is this about Sam?" Cas inquired casually, and Dean kept staring at the fishing rod he had no idea how to use. Sammy had left for college two weeks ago._

" _He's happy," he said gruffly. "That's all that matters"._

" _What about you?"_

" _What about me? I'm not important. Sam is the one getting an education"._

 _The one getting the life he dreamed of. The one who deserved it._

" _Dean, you matter to me"._

 _He smiled at Cas, and the familiar fondness that overcame him sometimes in his friend's presence washed over him._

 _As always, he had known exactly what he needed to hear._

Dean woke up. It was still dark outside, and he was thoroughly confused.

He would have believed that he had just remembered something, and that would have been good, hell, great even, but...

He had still had feelings for Cas in that dream. And they were only friends.

It took him a long time to fall asleep once more.

At breakfast – okay, it was time for lunch, but they had just gotten up, so breakfast it was – he was still occupied with the strange dream, and Cas noticed.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, startling Dean out of his reverie.

"What? Yes. I just had a weird dream..." He paused, then continued, deciding he had to know once and for all.

"Did we go fishing? A few weeks after Sam left for college, perhaps?"

The look of pure undulated delight on Cas' face was answer enough.

Dean really tried to be happy, but he was mostly confused. In his dream, he had felt the same towards Cas as he did now – very un-platonic. Was that just because he was working his current state into his memories?

"What do you remember?"

"Just that we tried fishing and that I was pretty bummed that Sam left" he replied, realizing at the same time that since he had experienced this sadness at his brother being gone, he was missing him a little more than before.

"He kept in touch, though," Cas reminded him, "and he's done with college, so – "

"Do you really think he'll settle in Lawrence when he could be a big-shot lawyer in New York or wherever he wanted to be?" Dean inquired, suddenly feeling upset at the thought of Sam moving far away.

Cas gave him a disappointed look and Dean recalled how his brother had looked when he had woken up in the hospital. Of course Sam wanted to be near him. They were brothers. They were close.

"Being stupid, sorry," he shrugged, and if Cas was surprised at him being easily convinced, he didn't show it.

Cas was happy. Ecstatic, even. He wanted nothing more than to call Sam, even though Dean had only remembered one thing.

And it was Dean's right to tell him. In fact, he was already taking out his phone, throwing Cas one of the looks he'd gotten used to in the last week and that he realized with self-disgust he would miss dearly.

Jess had gotten up early to study for the exam tomorrow, even though Sam had tried to convince her to relax. But when he had seen the expression on her face he had decided to let her have her way.

He was making her lunch – he hoped grilled chicken breast was okay since all he'd gotten from her when he had inquired had been an annoyed grumble – when Dean called, and Sam hadn't even said a word before he blurted out, "I remembered".

Sam was still trying to comprehend when Dean said, "Not everything, just one memory, me and Cas fishing after you went to college, but it's a start".

And it was the way Dean said "after you went to college", as he used to, with a hint of pride in his voice, that Sam truly began to hope.

Like he had said, it was a start.

"I don't know why I like you, Singer," Jody complained.

Bobby, who was busy taking apart the drawer so it could be moved out of the shop and using more force than was strictly necessary, looked down at her. "You were the one who took the sponge away from me".

She snorted, continuing to scrub the floor. "Because you have no idea how to remove blood stains".

"Not really my area of expertise."

She continued to grumble as she cleaned the floor, but it was clear she wasn't really angry. Bobby couldn't suppress a smile. Jody actually liked him. He had no idea what had made a woman like her take an interest in him – it might well have been the dumbest thing she'd ever done – but he wasn't going to question it.

Now all he needed was for Dean to remember. And to grow a pair concerning Cas.

Bobby was certain that all regulars, precious few they were, had by now seen the sign on the door, and Dean had never had much of a walk-in business, so he hadn't thought to lock the door behind them.

He was reminded of it when he heard someone exclaim weakly, "Oh my God".

Jody jumped up with the reflexes years in the service had given her. Bobby turned to see a big bulky man leaning against the door frame. He was pale, staring at the blood Jody hadn't yet managed to clean.

"Benny," he greeted him. Sam had had his problems with the guy when he arrived, but Bobby liked him. He'd been a good employee and was still a good friend to Dean.

"Where's Dean?" he asked, regaining his composure and strolling in.

"He's fine," Bobby said. "Well, mostly".

Benny obviously wanted that clarified, so he added, "That drawer fell on him. He woke up in the hospital, but his memory's gone."

"What do you mean, gone?" Benny demanded, and Bobby was touched at his concern.

"He can't remember his life. He knows stuff, though – like when the Revolutionary War was or how to drive. But personal stuff, nothing."

Benny blinked slowly, letting it all sink in before sighing with relief.

"I couldn't reach him. And he doesn't even have Facebook because he's allergic to everything from this century. Elizabeth said not to bother, but I had to check."

"Did you ride here on your bike?"

Benny nodded. "Non-stop," he admitted.

He looked at Jody. "Sorry for barging in, ma'am".

She shook her head. "I understand, really. We've all been very worried."

Benny smiled briefly before asking, "Do you think I could go see him?"

"He's been handling stuff pretty well," Bobby said. "I'm sure he'll be glad to see you. Sam's not there, had to go to Stanford for a few days, but Cas is with him".

Benny nodded, turned around and left with a short greeting, walking back to the bike he'd parked on the spot usually reserved for the Impala.

"It might spark something," Jody supplied.

Bobby could only agree.

Cas was working on a paper. He might have been on leave, but he still had to work, and Dean had encouraged him not to get behind of his behalf. Thankfully, owing to the progress of technology, he could write and still keep an eye on Dean – not that it was necessary.

He was surprised when his phone rang and he saw that it was Bobby calling him. Not only had he sent a text to say good morning to Dean not long ago, but he would certainly have rather called him?

He understood immediately however when Bobby began.

"Benny's coming over. He was worried when he couldn't reach Dean".

"Did he drive all the way?"

"Barely took a break".

Cas had never doubted Benny's friendship and loyalty to Dean, even as Sam had continued to watch his every move. He also knew that he and Dean spoke frequently on the phone, so Benny must have wondered when Dean didn't pick up – his phone having been broken by the drawer.

He had not expected that Benny would ride his motorcycle for twelve hours straight just to check up on him, and he felt guilty that he hadn't thought about apprising him of the situation.

"Dean" he called out.

Dean was sitting on the sofa, reading something on the device Cas secretly despised because there was nothing like a real book when it came to reading, but looked up immediately.

"Yeah?"

It suddenly dawned on Cas that he had been so concentrated on the book that he hadn't heard him getting a call, and this was simply too adorable for him to contemplate.

"Bobby called me to inform us that Benny is coming over".

Dean frowned. "Benny? The big guy with the motorcycle?"

"Exactly".

"But doesn't he live in Louisiana?"

"Yes".

"That's a long ride".

"He wanted to check up on you because you weren't answering his phone calls", Cas replied and Dean's eyes widened.

"And he drove all the way for that?"

"We have endeavoured to convince you for years that the Internet might actually be an acceptable way of communicating, but you wouldn't listen".

"Of course I didn't," Dean muttered. "EBook readers seem to be okay, though".

Cas chuckled. "Benny will be here soon".

"Looking forward to seeing him," Dean responded. He was. As awesome as his family had turned out to be (most of them, but he wasn't going to go there when he had someone coming over) he had apparently few to none close friends except for Cas and that guy Benny. Plus, Sam apparently didn't like him very much and Dean would like to know why.

They had barely waited for ten minutes before the doorbell rang, and Dean got up to get it.

He was somewhat taken aback when something the size of a grizzly bear drew him in a crushing hug.

The next moment, he was released and happily gasping for air, and the grizzly bear stepped back, apologizing.

"Sorry, brother. I'm just so damned relieved to see you're okay. Well, mostly".

"Hey, Benny," he greeted him.

He grinned.

"Remember me? Anything coming back?"

"No," he admitted. "But I can't remember my brother, and I only have one vague memory of Cas, so..."

"I won't take it was an insult, then," Benny replied and Dean realized he was blocking the entrance and stepped back.

Cas, being his usual polite self, had stayed in the living room to give them some privacy, so Dean said, "Cas is here, too".

Benny nodded and they walked in, Cas looking up from his laptop.

"Hello, Benny".

"Cas. He gave me a good fright, I'm telling you, man. He never misses our weekly calls."

"I should have made you aware of what had happened," Cas answered, shaking his hand. "I'm sorry".

"Don't be. I imagine it was quite the hassle".

Cas looked away, not wanting to remember Dean in the hospital, lying in the bed, lifeless and unconscious.

Benny seemed to notice because he changed the subject.

"How about you two get comfy and I make us lunch? Elizabeth has taught me a trick or two".

Cas didn't miss the implication, and he was sure that neither did Dean; Benny simply gave them an easy smile and started going through the drawers.

He was beginning to wonder if everyone knew of his feelings for Dean. He should never have bothered trying to hide them, apparently.

"Cas?" Dean asked and he shook his head.

"I'm going to try and finish the paper, can't make Balthazar do all the work," he said. "Why don't you..." he made a subtle gesture towards Benny and Dean understood. He smiled and asked him if he needed help. Considering he worked in his cousin's restaurant, Cas was inclined to think the answer was no, but Benny seemed glad of Dean's offer. He'd done right.

Cas escaped to the old myths that had so often given him comfort. He did his best to fight the small panic that had made a home in his chest when Benny had made him see that his feelings were obvious even to those who didn't know him all that well.

And if they knew –

He let himself fall in the chair, staring blankly at the document. Did Dean know? Had Dean always known?

And if he had – if he'd done nothing –

Cas had believed that he had long ago let go of all hope, that he had never hoped in the first place.

He learned he was wrong.

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat and, when that failed, began to read through the text, desperately attempting to remember what he had written about.

"Gonna make one of your favourites, if it's alright with you, brother," Benny said, and Dean nodded.

"I've been trying everything, so why not?"

Benny started chopping meat. Of course. Dean apparently had never eaten anything else, and he'd seen the suspicious glances Sam kept shooting him when he happily devoured the salad that came with the dinner they'd had on Sunday night.

"How did we meet?" he asked suddenly because the man who was ready to just up and drive across the country to look after him interested him immensely.

"I mean – " he added when he became aware that this couldn't be easy on Benny, but the other man shook his head.

"No problem. Figures you'd want to know. I'm just glad you're handling this well".

Dean shrugged. "Not much else to do. Could freak out, but the therapist says I shouldn't".

"What do you do in therapy anyway?"

"Talk, mostly".

Benny took the answer as it was and began to talk of their first meeting.

"I was in a motorcycle gang," he simply said and Dean stared at him.

"You mean – "

"I was a criminal, yeah. Robberies, mostly. A few charges for assault. Then, one day, things got ugly. I met a beautiful girl on the side of the road, trying to get her car to start working again. Andrea".

He sounded wistful and sad, and Dean had no doubt how the story would end.

"The Old Man, our boss, didn't like it." He paused and when he continued, Dean noticed how difficult he found it to talk about it.

"Bad stuff happened and – she died". He winced and looked at Dean. "Sorry, man. But you know all this, or should know – "

"No, really, you don't have to go into detail," Dean said. "Really," he repeated when Benny's expression grew doubtful, and the relief in his eyes told him he'd done the right thing.

"I didn't know where to go – after. I just left. Hopped on my bike and was gone the next moment. I kept driving, I don't remember for how long, it all jumbles together, but then my bike broke around near Bobby's and he pointed me to your place. I was ready to drop by the time I'd pushed it there".

He looked up and smiled.

"You came out immediately, and when you saw the state I was in, you offered to fix it for free, as well as some coffee. And then I just – started talking. Everything came out. You could have called the police on me, but you didn't. You asked me about my plans. Told you I had a cousin in Louisiana who'd maybe take me in. You offered me a job right then and there until I was ready to make contact".

He paused for a moment, then continued, "And I'm sorry to tell you, brother, but it was pretty obvious you couldn't afford to rent help. But I was desperate, so I took it".

"Did it help?" Dean inquired.

"Hell yeah. Got used to a regular schedule and everything, and I eventually called Elizabeth. I work in her restaurant now, keeping on the straight and narrow".

He shot Dean a look that was nothing short of pure adoration, and Dean shifted around on his feet, feeling a little uncomfortable.

But at the same time, it was nice that Benny was being so open. He was completely honest with him and would no doubt answer every question Dean had for him –

He was struck by a thought.

He appreciated Sam's and Cas' help, but more than once, he'd had the feeling that they were holding certain things back from him. Not exactly lying, but not talking about them. His father certainly was one of those things.

"Can I ask you something?"

"I'm an open book".

"Do you know my dad?"

Benny's shoulders tensed and Dean knew he'd been right. There was something Sam and Cas didn't want him to know.

Had their father been abusive? He swallowed as he recalled inviting him to sit next to his hospital bed, joking and laughing together. What if he had ever hit them?

"He's a dick," Benny said simply and Dean stared at him.

"Sorry. I just thought you wanted to know the truth – "

"I do. So you two don't get on?"

Benny snorted. "Nobody really gets on with your father, as far as I can tell".

Dean waited for him to continue. He'd thought that Dad and Bobby were friends, and he'd understood that he came to the shop regularly, so they had to have a somewhat good relationship, right?

"When I asked you why he always came to inspect the shop and make sure you had changed nothing, you said he had had a hard time ever since your mum died, so you tried not to upset him. But then, you're always making excuses for him. He was never around, he drank, you raised your kid brother more or less on your own, and he was always talking you down, the whole time he was in the garage, and he didn't want me there either, and you opposed him there, but all the other crap – you just took it. And if you ask me, or your brother, or Bobby, or Cas, you're amazing, so I never got your father's problem. So that's what I meant by 'he's a dick'".

Dean let it all sink in slowly. So that was why Sam had always seemed strangely distant when their father was around.

Then, of course, Benny couldn't know anything; but since he at the same time reflected what his father's behaviour had been to him, so unlike Bobby's, which spoke of real affection, the sort of love that a parental figure ought to have shown, it was no big stretch to suppose that John Winchester had never really been a good father.

As for him raising Sam... Yes, Dean decided, he could believe it. Sam's desperation about his condition that he had glimpsed a few times, when his brother's guard had been down and he had openly shown that he fervently wished he would remember everything and be his big brother again, as well as his relief that Dean had experienced firsthand when he had woken up, spoke of their close relationship; in fact, it seemed to be surmised, at least by Cas, that Sam would return to Lawrence once he was a fully certified lawyer, and it was easy to deduce that his own residence there played no small part in his decision.

So what was more logical than to believe Benny? He'd seen his father the worse for drink; it was easy to suppose he'd drunk when they had been children, too. Of course he'd be the one to care for Sam, then, with help of Bobby and Jody and even Rufus, from time to time.

Benny had been nothing but obliging and honest with him, and Dean hoped he could convey his thanks by helping him out with his cooking; he was chopping the tomatoes, which Benny had explained, "Just add to the flavour, I know you're not a big fan of vegetables, but – "

"I don't mind a salad now and then," he'd replied absent-mindedly, his mind still focused on what his and Sam's lives must have been like, and missed Benny's questioning glance.

Cas was still working on his paper. Dean didn't know how far he'd come, but knowing that he undoubtedly wished it to be perfect, and having learned of his passion for the subject ever since he woke up, it could be quite some time, prompting him to ask one other question.

"Benny – Can I –" He stopped, biting his lip. Should he ask? After all, it was his and Cas' relationship he was thinking of, something Benny really had nothing to do with. On the other hand, he really wanted to know...

"Sure, chief. Shoot".

"Me and Cas..." he trailed off, unsure how to ask.

Luckily Benny guessed his meaning.

"Honestly? I could never figure out why you two weren't dating. He looks at you like you hung the stars, and you're just as bad".

Dean blushed. "I'm sure – I know I'm bi, so shouldn't something have happened by now – "

He stopped abruptly when he saw Benny's mouth hanging open.

"What?" he inquired, instantly defensive when he suspected that his sexuality made Benny uncomfortable.

"Just never expected you to talk about it so casually," Benny explained, guessing his thoughts.

"Why?"

"You're not out. Not even to yourself".

Now he was just confused.

"What?"

"It's kind of obvious. You look at the male population just like you do at the female one, and it's never been a problem for me. You like what you like, right? But you... You were always the manliest man-man to ever man, man".

Dean blinked and stared at Benny, making it obvious how he felt about the description, and a second later, they were both laughing.

"Alright, maybe not that bad," Benny conceded, "but you would never have entertained a thought of being bi."

"I found out pretty quickly".

"Let me guess. Cas walked in?"

Dean coloured but mumbled an affirmative reply, and Benny shook his head, bemused, before growing serious.

"Promise me something, chief".

"What is it?" he asked, somewhat cautious.

"Remember this when you're back to normal. That's all".

Dean could easily imagine what he meant, but his mind was still reeling with what he had learned. He had denied his sexuality, his feelings for Cas (if Benny was right, but he was ready to believe him), most likely every desire he'd ever had that didn't fit in his self-image of the "manly man". And yet at the same time he watched soap operas and was apparently great with kids and liked to cook and read hundreds of books in secret.

It didn't make sense. Why would he ignore his being drawn to men in the first place? This wasn't the Middle Ages. Did he really consider being manly that important? Dean didn't. Not at all. By now he was reasonably acquainted with his feelings so that he knew he would jump at any chance of being with Cas. Watching soap operas was fine by him, reading was great, he definitely wanted to rearrange the furniture in the garage.

With a sinking feeling, he realized that instead of moving forward to remembering who he was, he might be moving away.

To break the tension and get rid of the negative thoughts, he said, "So I raised Sam and made a law-abiding citizen out of you, and according to Sam and Cas I'm just awesome in general – are there any other things I should know? Did I like to walk on water, by any chance?"

Before Benny could answer, Cas strolled in, undoubtedly drawn in by the smell of the meal, which to Benny's credit was wonderful.

"I gotta leave tomorrow," he informed them with regret. "Elizabeth didn't think me freaking out warranted a vacation."

"Don't worry, I'm well cared for," Dean answered before realizing what he'd said and blushing furiously.

Cas' eyes dropped to his plate. Benny, who was watching them both intently, made the resolution of speaking to Dean's best friend alone before he left.

The opportunity arose sooner than he had thought because Bobby and Jody showed up some time in the afternoon to announce they'd cleaned the garage. Dean was eager to see it, and he and Cas hopped into the Impala while Benny followed on his bike. He could have driven forwards, but after the fear of the last few days, he preferred being able to watch Dean drive in front of him. And it couldn't hurt to give them a little more time together.

Hearing Dean ask so casually about his own sexuality had been a shock. Benny had pretty soon figured out that he liked guys, too, and he hadn't thought twice about it. Whatever made Dean happy was fine by him.

The problem was, of course, that Dean hadn't been happy, in spite of his belief that he was. Benny had always been astonished at his friend's capacity of self-deception. Especially when it came to Cas. Benny's first impression, on the very day he started working at the shop and Cas stormed in because Dean had informed him he'd hired someone, had been that he was dealing with a concerned boyfriend.

Luckily, he'd introduced himself so that Benny hadn't talked to Dean about it. He'd later come to appreciate this all the more because of Dean's assured and long-practiced denial of anything that didn't fit his father's image of him.

All in all, Benny couldn't help but come to the conclusion that, if this led to what he had hoped would happen all along, the amnesia might not be so bad after all.

Dean didn't want to ask. They were going to the shop, to see Bobby's and Jody's work, and, as Dean intended, to plan the renovations that he deemed necessary, as far as he could afford them – to his shame, apart from asking about the hospital bills, he had paid little heed to his financial status.

And he really should ask Sam first. Whatever their upbringing, Sam would know. Sam would be honest with him. He deserved to be the first –

But if he were to ask about Dad? Cas could at least tell him about Dad and the allusions Benny had made to him "talking Dean down". What had he meant? Dean hadn't inquired at the moment because he was taking everything in, but now...

He cleared his throat, although he left his eyes firmly on the road. Since his crush came with a staring problem, it would hardly be safe to turn his head while he was driving.

"I talked to Benny".

"I knew you would," Cas calmly replied.

"And he said – some stuff," Dean finished, feeling foolish.

"He did?"

There could be no mistaking the anxiety in Cas' voice, and in his surprise, Dean looked at him after all, but Cas was watching him with nothing but curiosity. He forced himself to look away.

"It was about Dad". He felt Cas stiffen, the friendly atmosphere in the car changing, becoming tense, uncomfortable. Cas had barely said a word about Dad. Even when they had met, they had seldom spoken to one another, and Dean suddenly found it strange that he hadn't asked Cas for the reason of this apparent dislike.

"He said Dad wasn't exactly – that he drinks, and well, I have eyes, so I kind of expected that, but he also said that he 'puts me down' and isn't a very good father, and I – " He stopped. Cas would know what to say. He always did.

For a second, he had feared. For a second, he had been frozen, scared that Benny had told Dean, had let him know that Cas loved him, had for years and would surely for many more to come, if he didn't know already; he should have known better. He should have known Benny better. His past might not have been the best, but he was a good friend to Dean and, in extension, to Cas as well.

They had kept Dean from the knowledge he was seeking, they had deliberately suppressed information that would distress him. He would have preferred it to have Sam with him, but maybe it was just as well. He was not kept back by any remaining love and respect the younger Winchester might have felt for their father, and Dean deserved, needed, to know the truth.

"That he isn't 'a very good father' is an understatement in my opinion. I've never liked him, and he's never liked me, as you have undoubtedly noticed. He always pushed his responsibilities on to you, which of course led you to be overprotective and paternal when it came to Sam. You were a child, saddled with the role of an adult. When we first met, you'd hurry home after school to make Sam a warm meal. Your father ignored your efforts and you soon told me that he expected you to take over his garage. So you did. You once..." he trailed off, realizing that he might reveal too much and say something he would eventually regret because it would make Dean angry, but he only said, "Come on, Cas. Please".

"You mentioned McPherson College and their courses on restoration. Your father laughed at the very idea of you going to college and that was that". He was well aware that his hostility towards John Winchester was bleeding into his voice, but he'd gone too far to stop, and he had longed to say this for a long time.

"After that, you never spoke of it again, even though you clearly possess the mental faculties necessary to accomplish anything you want, and your father kept you here and made you work in the old garage and would never allow you to change a thing, and he always checked on you even though you did great work, and he always told you that you weren't as clever or good as Sam, but you are, really, and – "

"Whoa, Cas. Lay off the worship there. I don't want people to build creepy religions around me. We got Scientology for that, remember?"

Cas blushed and looked at his hands, out the window, everywhere but at Dean.

Dean was miraculously still focusing on his driving, which could be the only reason his hand, when he reached out to him, landed on his thigh and patted it a few times.

"Always glad to hear compliments, though. And I appreciate the honesty, Cas. Seriously".

A comfortable silence fell between them and Cas, after he had come to terms with Dean patting his thigh, realized that he hadn't argued. He hadn't told Cas he must be wrong. He had accepted what he had told him.

His own observations of John must have already made him suspect that their relationship was not the best; and he trusted Cas' judgement.

For now.

Cas dreaded what would happen when Dean remembered.

Dean had no time to bestow on the fact that he had just patted his best friend's thigh as if he had a right to (he'd probably freak out about it later) because he was thinking about Dad. He had only heard what he had already suspected. He remembered nothing of his dad that was inconsistent with the picture Cas had painted – he even had asked repeatedly when Dean was going back to work when he had other stuff to deal with.

To be assured by Cas that he was a good and smart man was something, however; and since it was obvious that Cas wouldn't be friends with someone stupid because he was really freaking smart himself, Dean was much inclined to believe him.

It sucked that his dad sucked. But with Sam and Cas and Bobby and the others, Dean thought he could manage.

He parked at the garage and they got out of the car. Cas was wearing a blue t-shirt that brought out his eyes, and Dean was not checking him out. He was concentrating on the shop. Absolutely.

Bobby and Jody really had done a good job; there wasn't a drop of blood anywhere and the drawer was gone.

Dean had only begun to express his gratitude when Benny entered and whistled.

"Good job on that drawer". Then he looked rather sheepish and added, "I really should have helped – "

"Please. Dean's more important than a drawer, ain't that right, son?"

"I hope so," Dean replied lightly at the same time Cas answered, "He is".

Dean turned to look at him and was surprised by the intensity and sincerity in his eyes. His heart beat wildly in his chest. Could it be – could Cas reciprocate? Did he have feelings for him? No, impossible. They had been friends for too long.

Bobby cleared his throat, rather pointedly, Dean decided, and he looked away, hoping he wasn't blushing.

Dean was too flustered to notice, but Cas saw the amused glances their friends threw each other. Aside from his secret being out in the open, he didn't want them to form expectations that couldn't be fulfilled. Dean was straight. He was only thinking he had a crush on Cas because he didn't remember himself and needed someone to cling to.

He should have left. Jody and Bobby and Benny were here, they could look after Dean for a moment. But there was his promise to Sam. And he didn't want to leave. And he was weak.

"As soon as I find the money, this place is getting a makeover," Dean said casually, and by this time, they were acclimatized enough to him saying things he would never even dare contemplate normally to not bat an eyelid. Even Benny remained calm.

"Won't be long in finding," Bobby answered in the same tone as Dean, and he frowned at him.

"Bobby – "

"We've been here before, kid. Don't make me say it again".

Dean wisely chose not to comment.

He moved torward the desk and grabbed a wrench that was lying there. It was well looked after, just like the Impala, and he could easily imagine using it to give an old motor back its original beauty, make it run and pur –

Yeah, he could imagine being a mechanic. But he also wished he knew more about the courses on renovation Cas had talked about. It would have been awesome to go to college and learn.

Maybe he could still do that. He was only thirty after all, and if Bobby was willing to help him... He didn't really want to take his money, but maybe he could pay him back later...

First things first, though. The wrench felt good in his hand, familiar.

"I might try to go back to work," he said suddenly because he felt it to be the right thing.

"How about you come by my place tomorrow, try a few engines?" Bobby supplied immediately and Dean, who no longer felt any qualms about considering Bobby his father figure, was quick to agree.

Cas had underestimated what seeing Dean with his tools would do to him. It was not simply that he wanted to get back to work, to get better; but as long as he had known him, Dean had always fixed cars. It came to him as easy as breathing, as driving.

It felt good to watch him grow into his life.

"You'll be back to saving scrap and somehow turning it into something driveable before you know it," Benny said and Cas was again struck with his loyalty and support. It made him sorry that he'd been so worried when he'd first shown up.

After Dean had looked at the shop more carefully than he had done before and had begun a list of where renovations were most necessary (which Cas would definitely remind him of later) they parted with many thanks on Dean's side, which Bobby and Jody were hasty to decline any claim of; Benny was going to spend the night at Dean's apartment before leaving in the morning.

Cas, with a heavy heart, asked Dean if he could drop him at his place. Dean was looked after, and he and Benny deserved some time for themselves.

But Dean looked so crestfallen and Benny immediately insisted that he would very much like to spend time with Cas as well, and in the end they simply returned to Dean's, Benny more than happy to settle for the couch for one night.

He cooked for them again, and Cas had the feeling that he was eager to show off his skills. It hadn't been an easy decision for him to contact his cousin, but in the end, Dean's advice had won out. It was a nice way of showing Dean that he was a good man, and Cas gave Benny credit for all the benefit he could derive from it. Indeed, he soon became aware that with this visit, what little concern he had left about Benny and Dean being friends entirely dissipated.

And then Benny patted Dean's shoulder – really, it was nothing more than a pat, a friendly, open gesture between friends – and Cas was ready to jump up and shove him away.

This spurt of jealousy shocked him; all these years he had himself under control – of that he was sure; even though he hadn't hidden his feelings as well as he had believed, he had had himself under control; had watched women come and go in Dean's life, had offered comfort after breakups and got along with all of his partners; and one touch from Benny was enough to completely unravel him.

It must be because Dean had somehow convinced himself that he had a crush on him. It must be because the impossible, the one thing he had known he could never have, was suddenly within reach, no matter that it would be wrong to take it.

He took a few deep breaths and resisted the urge to move closer to Dean. He was not going to mark his territory. He was a decent man, guided by his intellect, not his instinct.

The mirth he could see in Benny's eyes did little to calm him down.

They retired rather early because Benny was tired after the drive and had to leave "when no one in their right mind is up", according to Dean; and Cas took leave of him right away because he decided he might as well let them have the morning, what little there was, to themselves.

Benny hugged him unexpectedly, and Cas reciprocated the gesture automatically.

"You take good care of him," he told him as he let go, and Cas could only nod. "Not that you don't already," he added, on second thought, and Cas wished he could have done without the wink that accompanied those words.

Dean went to sleep feeling very good about himself that night.

Seeing the garage without the blood or the drawer that had put him in this position had made him want to work, explore Doctor Moseley's suggestion, Benny was a great cook and a good friend, and Cas –

He shouldn't hope. But Cas had been giving him signals all day, and he wasn't blind. Their friends obviously thought something was going on.

If it weren't for the damn amnesia, he would make a move. But he needed to know himself and Cas thoroughly before he did that. He couldn't afford to fuck up. Not this. Not Cas.

He quickly thought of something else. Benny was awesome. He'd driven hours just to spend a short time with Dean, to make sure he was okay. This definitely proved that his old self was pretty awesome too, because you certainly didn't do all that for a jerk. Not that Dean had had much doubt on the matter before. Cas would never be friends with a jerk.

What Cas had told him about his dad didn't bother him. Dad had been distant ever since he had woken up. It was sad that his father would think so little of his responsibilities, but he had Bobby, and Bobby was a more than adequate replacement. Although he would eventually find a way to pay him back.

He took out his phone to call Sammy. His brother picked up on the first ring.

"Is Jess still alive?" Dean asked, and he snorted.

"She consumes more coffee than I thought a human being could process, but yeah".

"You better make her get some rest. It's tomorrow".

"Working on it, mother bear. How are you?"

He told him more about the memory flash. They had spoken about it in the morning, but with today's surprise visit and being in his shop, he'd almost forgotten about it (oh, the irony).

Sam was just as ecstatic as earlier, if a little held back, and Dean realized it was because his first memory to return was about Cas, not about him.

"I was very bummed after you left for college. I remember that".

His brother's silence told him it hadn't exactly been the best thing to say.

"I mean – " he hastily began, but Sam interrupted him.

"I missed you, too".

It was an unexpected answer, but it was enough.

"Benny's here," he supplied as the next subject.

"What?" Sam asked, being rather confused at the new topic. "Doesn't he work in Louisiana?"

"Yes he does, and yes, no one told him what had happened, but he couldn't reach me so he jumped on his bike and drove all the way. He didn't really get leave from his cousin, so he's going back tomorrow."

"He drove all the way from Louisiana for just one day?"

Sam was obviously surprised, and Dean couldn't wonder at his reluctance to approve of his friendship with an ex-criminal. If it had been the other way around, he would have been furious.

"Dean, I – it seems I was wrong about him. I know you don't remember, but I want you to know – "

"Alright, Sammy, I get it. Con came to you and suddenly you were besties? I'd be concerned too".

"You were never besties," Sam was quick to correct him, and Dean silently agreed. No one could ever take this place. Cas occupied it.

"But still – he's a good friend".

"He is," Dean replied, and now the memory of what Benny had told him chocked him. It was one thing to talk about Dad with Cas, who hadn't been there to witness their childhood; it was another to speak to his little brother, who had seen their father drink and neglect them.

Maybe he should wait until they got back. Maybe he should wait until they could have this conversation in person. But talking to Sam, he felt the increasing need to know.

It wasn't that he didn't believe Benny; but he needed the confirmation. Suddenly, talking to Sam, he needed the confirmation.

"I asked Benny about Dad".

Even though he couldn't see him, he could tell that his brother stiffened.

"You didn't tell me everything, did you?" Dean asked softly.

"Dean, I wanted you to – it wasn't easy, and –" Sam broke off, but Dean said nothing. He obviously wasn't finished.

"You raised me," Sam said matter-of-factly. "Not him. I don't remember how things were before Mum died. You always insisted he cared a lot for us then. But since – you were the one reading to me, helping me with my homework. Preparing my meals. You started working in the garage as soon as you were old enough because Dad was drunk more often than not, and nobody trusts a drunk mechanic with a car. You moved out when I went to Stanford because Dad got angry and told me never to come back and you wanted me to visit. You're the one I call when I want to talk to someone. You're always there for me. He never was".

Dean didn't realize he was crying until a small sob escaped him. Sam immediately stopped talking.

"Dean? Dean? Are you alright?"

"Yeah," he said, wiping away the tears with his left hand, "yeah, I'm good".

He was. What had broken him was not the neglect they had apparently suffered – he was ready to bet that his memories, when they came back, wouldn't be all happy – but the reverent tone Sam had just used when talking about him. Like he was the best big brother in the world. Like he was ready to do everything for Dean, like Dean had done for him.

"I already kinda knew Dad wasn't the best" he confessed.

"It's hard not to notice," Sam said, his voice strange, hurt and indifference and love all mixed together, and Dean swallowed down a few more tears.

"But hey, we had Bobby".

"And I had you," Sam explained again, as if he wanted to get the message across as often as possible.

"I know. And looking at you – I did a pretty good job. Although I am saying so myself".

"Thanks".

"I wish I could remember, Sammy" he said, "I wish I could remember everything. Even the bad times. You, Dad – Cas".

"I know, Dean. But you had a memory flash, right? It's a start".

"It is" he confirmed. He had to believe it. He wanted to believe it. He had another session with Doctor Moseley on Friday; who knew, he might get more flashes before then.

"Look after Jess and tell her she'll do great tomorrow" he eventually said, after a comfortable silence.

"I will." Then, gently, unsure, almost like a child, "Love you, Dean".

"Love you too, bro," he said before hanging up.

Dean lay down to sleep with one thought on his mind: No matter how crappy their lives had started out, they were doing quite well.


	9. Chapter 9

Jess woke up Sam the next morning because she was nervous and dropped a cup in the kitchen. He cleaned away the mess without a word; a silent thank you for not having insisted that he tell her what the phone call that had made him cry last night had been about.

He hadn't wanted to talk because he didn't know how he felt about it. He'd said the words he'd often wished to say to Dean. But he hadn't said them to Dean, not really; the man who needed to hear them was not there, not back yet; but if he had been, he wouldn't have believed him, wouldn't have accepted that he was Sam's idea of what a father should be like, not John.

Maybe he'd gotten closer to putting it through his brother's skull. Maybe. Perhaps Dean would recall all of this once he was back to normal.

Jess was always unusually quiet before exams, but she smiled when he relayed Dean's message, and she left with a promise that they'd soon be on their way to Kansas.

At moments like these, Sam was inclined to believe his brother. Jess was way too good for him.

Although his alarm woke him at six, Dean woke up feeling cheerful. He hadn't had any more flashes, but he knew the truth about his father and Sam, and he was going to Bobby's to work on cars.

Before that, though, he had to say goodbye to Benny.

His friend was already up, only waiting for him, and when Dean saw him glance at the kitchen, he said, "Don't even think about it. You should go. We don't want Elizabeth angry".

He chuckled. "We don't. I have to convince her to meet you one day".

"Yes, please. Would be fun to gang up on you".

With such pleasant reflections passed the rest of Benny's visit – just long enough to have a quick cup of coffee – and then he accompanied him to his bike, noting it was well cared for, just like the Impala.

Benny pulled Dean into a hug.

"Remember what you promised, brother".

"I will," Dean replied and watched him drive off until he turned the corner.

When he got back, Cas was making breakfast in the kitchen.

He turned his head as soon as Dean entered the room, smiling at him, the small, genuine smile he seemed to reserve for him, and the morning got even better.

He should fight this. This infatuation could lead to nothing. Cas might be giving him signals, but he could only see what he wanted to see.

But Cas made damn good scrambled eggs.

"I talked to Sam yesterday" Dean said between bites, "he told me how we grew up".

Cas nodded.

"I'm glad the kid turned out as well as he did," he added.

He didn't know why he excluded himself from the statement. For having to bring up himself and a younger brother, his life wasn't bad. But he couldn't help but feel that there could be more. Having gone to McPherson College to study restoration, perhaps. More friends. A relationship.

He looked at Cas, sipping his coffee.

 _Not going there. Definitely not. Never going there. Don't even think about it._

"You have every reason to be proud of what Sam accomplished. Without you, he wouldn't have done it," Cas said simply.

Dean nodded.

Cas went back to eating breakfast, hoping Dean couldn't read his emotions. Dean accepting praise was a rare sight. Dean believing that he deserved said praise was even rarer. Hopefully he would be more inclined to do so once his memories came back.

Cas wanted to ask if he had experienced more flashes, but Dean would undoubtedly have told him.

"Man, Cas, these are awesome," Dean sighed.

"So you'll eat breakfast regularly then?"

"I make no promises".

Cas shook his head and Dean imagined leaning forward, kissing him because he could, because he was allowed to.

His phone rang and destroyed the moment, thankfully, Dean told himself, thankfully.

It was Sam of course.

"Jess taking her test?"

"Yes, and she was nervous, but she's been studying so much she has to pass".

"Did you tell her that?"

"She would have bitten my head off".

"I definitely like her already".

Dean's part of the conversation was enough for Cas to follow; the brothers falling back into their familiar banter was certainly a good sign. Soon Dean would remember and things would be back to normal.

For a moment, Cas had thought he would kiss him. And worse, for a moment he had wanted him to. But it wasn't right.

He hadn't talked to Balthazar in a while, he realized. He probably should call him. It had calmed him down the last time.

He stood up and smiled at Dean as an excuse before going to his room – the guest room. It wasn't his. This wasn't his home. Although he had seldom felt more comfortable anywhere else.

Balthazar picked up on the second ring.

"Cassie! I'd thought you'd gone missing! Please tell me that you're all tired out from some – "

"Balthazar," Cas interrupted him, because he certainly didn't need his friend to give him ideas.

"Sorry," he apologized, probably brought to his senses by Cas' sharp tone. "How are you all doing?"

"Dean had a memory flash. Just us going fishing after Sam went to college, but we hope he might experience more".

"That's great news, Cassie. Everything has to start somewhere".

"I suppose... Dean wants to go to the salvage yard later. Try and work on a few cars".

"I'm no doctor, but it sounds like a good idea".

"Yes," Cas confirmed. He really didn't want to go over this with Balthazar again, didn't want to touch the subject he really wanted to talk about.

He sensed his reluctance and inquired, "Do you want to catch lunch while Dean's working?"

Cas' first instinct was to say no; but it was completely absurd and easily repressed. Dean couldn't want him while he was working, and Bobby would be there.

So he happily agreed and went back to the kitchen were Dean was doing the dishes.

"I think I'm gonna lay down, catch a few more hours," he said, "We don't go to Bobby's till the afternoon".

"You wanted to get up with Benny".

"Because I'm an awesome friend".

"I never doubted that, Dean".

Dean didn't comment, but silently cleaned the last dish and was soon back in his room. Cas, who never could get back to sleep after getting up, decided to work on his article in the meantime.

Not long after Dean's call, there was knock on the door of Sam's and Jess' apartment, and he went to open it already guessing who it was.

Jess's parents had announced that they would come on the day of the exam to celebrate, to make it possible for them to return to Kansas the following morning, and Sam tried to tell them how much it meant to him, but Jess' mother would take none of it.

"He's your family, dear. Jess wants to support you. I'm sure you'd do the same for her".

There was a subtle warning in her voice, and Sam assured her that of course he would, which even seemed to reconcile Mr. Moore to his daughter's leaving so soon.

He also promised to visit them soon with Jess, and they settled down to wait.

It was past two when Dean came out of his room, and Cas rolled his eyes good-naturedly before handing him the keys to the Impala. Dean looked happy, eager to be working, and Cas had to smile the whole way. This is how he'd always been when it came to cars, to fixing what was broken. It came naturally to him.

Bobby was waiting for them while very aptly pretending not to be, but from the moment Dean stepped out of the car, cars were all they talked about.

Cas left them over an engine, discussing details he had never managed to understand when Dean had tried to explain them to him, Dean having graciously allowed him the use of the Impala.

He sent Balthazar a text, and he was already waiting for him in the restaurant near campus they liked to frequent.

"Cassie! Looking good".

He rolled his eyes.

"I look the same as always".

"No you don't. You should have seen yourself when Dean was still in the hospital".

Cas groaned as the comment reminded him of Bobby, Jody, Benny, Sam and all the others who must have seen over the years, who must have _known_.

"I never meant for it to be obvious," he said, looking down at the table.

"I know. Why do you think no one ever said anything? Well, that plus Dean would have freaked".

He knew that, knew it deep in his bones, and yet... the past few days... the soft smiles and the touches and the hugs –

"Cassie? You still with me?"

Cas looked up, blushing.

"Alright. Hit me".

And it all just came pouring out, this something that was really nothing, this hope that had always been there, without Cas admitting it, suddenly receiving nourishment and blossoming, and how wrong it was, how very, very wrong it was because Dean wasn't himself and Cas was taking advantage, he wasn't setting boundaries, he was encouraging Dean, encouraging him with blushes and smiles, and he didn't know if he would have pulled back that morning if he'd made a move –

"Breathe, please. Castiel! Breathe!"

Cas forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. His head was spinning.

"Don't work yourself up over this. I know it's not easy, but... Cas, don't overthink it. Right now, you're helping your friend through a tough time. Once it's over, who knows..." Cas frowned at him. "Alright, forget my last comment. Just... Be his best friend like you've always been. Stop analyzing your every move".

It was good advice, Cas reflected. Better than driving himself crazy.

He would do best if he abided by it.

He looked at the menu.

"How did the last week of the semester go?"

"And Benny's an awesome cook," Dean said as he used a wrench on a stubborn valve.

"Has to be, working in a restaurant," Bobby answered. "You sure haven't forgotten about this," he commented, watching Dean work.

"It's just like speaking or driving – I know how to do it, I just don't know why," Dean answered absent-mindedly, finishing the motor off. "Let's try".

The car came to life, purring beautifully, and Dean grinned happily at Bobby. It was the third one he'd fixed since he'd arrived two hours ago, Bobby supervising; but he hadn't needed any help.

"I think I'll open the shop".

"When?"

"Next week, probably. I need some time to reconcile the thought of actually running a business". The grin slipped from his face. "A failing business, probably".

"It's not like that, boy. You never came around to modernizing the place – "

"Because Dad didn't want to".

Bobby looked at him and knew.

"They told you?"

He nodded.

"Benny got the ball rolling, and I spoke to Sam and Cas... Thanks for looking after us, Bobby".

"I didn't do enough," was his answer, the one true, unchangeable, unforgivable fact of his life. Bobby had admitted to himself a long time ago that he'd screwed up. He should have faced John and made sure the boys got a happy childhood.

"You were there".

"But not as much as I wanted".

"It still counts, Bobby". Dean looked away and let his gaze sweep over the salvage yard.

"This first impression I got – when I called you Dad in the hospital – you remember?"

He looked back at him and Bobby could only nod. He wasn't likely to forget that as long as he lived.

"It never really changed. I figured out soon enough that Dad wasn't very fatherly, and I always felt you were".

Bobby was not going to cry. Fathers didn't cry in front of their children. And now he was crying. Perfect. He didn't want Dean to feel he hurt him.

He wasn't sure who moved first, but now they were hugging.

"I probably won't see much of Dad," Dean admitted, pulling back, and there were tears on his cheeks too, "but you'll be around, right?"

"You better damn well believe I will be" Bobby growled and then they were laughing, tears not yet dried.

They were really glad no one could see them.

"So," Dean said lightly, "what is it with you and Jody, anyway?"

Bobby pretended to take a swing at him with his tools.

When Cas arrived, he found them drinking coffee in the kitchen, laughing, and his heart swelled.

 _Don't overthink it_ , he reminded himself. Balthazar was right.

"Hey, Cas".

"Hello, Dean".

After Dean had told Cas his plans for opening the shop next week and he'd had a cup of coffee, they returned home.

During the drive Dean asked, "And, did you have a good lunch with Balthazar?"

"Yes. We're good friends".

"You told me," he said courtly and Cas frowned. Dean was gripping the steering wheel and did his best to appear, calm but –

Jealous. Dean was jealous.

Cas really tried to just "go with it" and said, "He wanted to know how you were. Said I hadn't been the same when you were in the hospital".

Dean relaxed and Cas was happy.

At home, Dean immediately went to call Sam.

Cas sat down on the sofa and closed his eyes for a moment.

The next thing he knew, Dean was shaking his shoulder.

"Dinner's ready".

"What?" he mumbled, confused. Dean chuckled.

"You were out for two hours. Should've gone back to sleep like I did".

Cas shook his head, trying to clear it, and realized that Dean had tucked him in.

"Come on, sleepyhead, I made pasta".

It didn't matter that he'd eaten only a few hours ago. Dean had cooked for him, and Dean had tugged him in, and Cas didn't think about it and enjoyed the evening.

The next morning, Dean was definitely nervous.

"Dean," Cas said for the hundredth time as they were waiting for Jess and Sam at the airport, "Jess loves you. It's going to be fine."

"I'm meeting my brother's girlfriend, Cas. I want to make a good impression".

"You already have".

"But what if I've changed too much for that to stick?"

"Dean – "

He never got to finish that sentence, because at this moment Sam spotted them and all but tackled Dean.

"How are you?"

"I'll be fine once you let me breathe".

As soon as Sam let go, it was Jess' turn. She pulled back smiling.

"Hello".

"Hi". He whistled. "You look even better than in your pictures. No idea what this big puppy did to get you to go out with him".

"Beg," she shot back.

He liked this girl a lot, just like Sam had prophesized he would.

Since now Jess and Sam had survived their exams, Bobby had been adamant that he wanted to invite them and Dean and Cas to dinner, and they both ignored that it made them sound like a couple.

No one mentioned John in the course of the evening. Dean suspected that Bobby checked up on him occasionally, but since learning the truth, he'd had little to no inclination to talk to his father.

He'd feel bad about it once he regained his memories.

Jody arrived shortly after them, Bobby pretending that he had just invited her as a friend before she kissed him on the cheek, and they spent the next few minutes laughing at him, Bobby meanwhile grumbling in the kitchen.

Jody soon joined him there, to their amusement.

The silence that followed could easily have been embarrassing, like every time Dean tried to reconnect with someone, but Jess wouldn't allow it. She immediately started to describe her test, her life at university, how she and Sam had met (much to his brother's horror) and when Dean heard her pronounce the name Gustav Meynrink in a half-sentence he knew he would force Sam to propose if he didn't do it himself.

"My favourite's _The_ _Golem,_ " he interrupted her eagerly in the middle of the story. He was rather impolite, but he'd only ever talked about books with Cas, and he figured it was as good a topic to bond over as anything else.

Jess didn't even bat an eyelid as she replied enthusiastically, which was more than Sam could have done.

Dean had become so much like himself in the past few days that this was all the more surprising, and Cas' calm information of "He has an eBook reader" didn't help much.

"Since when?"

Cas shrugged.

"He's been reading every day, as far as I could tell, mostly in his room".

Dean had often made fun of them for being nerds, and he had always acted like he wasn't interested in books in the slightest. Was this another consequence of their father's ill-advised picture of a "real man"?

Sam was glad that he wasn't there.

At least Dean and Jess got along just as well as they had before.

Eventually, after they had eaten, Jess pulled Dean aside, and Sam saw it with a smile.

"How are you?" she asked eagerly. "I don't mean to pry, but – "

Dean waved her off. "I get it. You're a doctor. If something was wrong with your car, I'd want to check it, too."

"Not a doctor yet".

"Soon enough," he answered and she grinned.

Once he'd satisfied her that he no longer had any physical symptoms, her voice dropped.

"Sam told me you remembered one thing".

"A fishing trip with Cas. And that's it".

"But if one memory is still there, the others have to be as well," she argued. "The human body, for all our medicine and science, is still a mystery. It can heal itself in ways we can't comprehend, and so can the mind. Just wait and see".

It was a mere nothing, and yet Dean felt better after their conversation. He felt relieved, even though he couldn't say he'd been depressed in any way before. Maybe it was just that he liked Jess. Maybe it was just that he wanted hope and confirmation of said hope as often as possible.

Either way, that and Cas' smiles were enough to tide him over so that he was still in a good mood when he came to his next session with Doctor Moseley on Friday.

There was really not much to do but to answer her questions, and as he was talking about his father, he was studying the light in her eyes and sincerely hoped that he wasn't some sort of project for her. Then again, she didn't seem the type. He believed she honestly wanted him to get better.

"There are other methods we could use – hypnotherapy, for one thing – but for now, I suggest you live your life and try not to worry".

Considering this was the advice everybody was giving him, he thought it best to do just that.


	10. Chapter 10

It came as no surprise to anyone but Sam when, two weeks after he and Jess had arrived (and she had eventually been convinced to spend at least a little time with her family; Dean had tried to persuade Sam to go with her and relax, but his brother would have none of it) he learned that he had passed his bar exam with flying colours.

Right after he had survived the tackle hug that followed Sam's delighted scream, Dean said nothing but "I told you so", prompting Sam to give him a bitchface of epic proportions (as he had been told he called it).

Cas, who, while Sam was there, usually returned to his apartment to sleep, but spent almost every waking minute with Dean (much to his pleasure, but he was in the process of conquering his crush, so it was just the disinterested happiness of friendship) joined in the congratulations.

Soon enough, they had arranged a celebration at Bobby's place that was to take place in two days so that Jess could come. Dean didn't even bother to ask Bobby if Jody would be there. As far as she could tell, she spent more time at his place than her own by now.

Speaking of which –

No. Just disinterested friendship. As it should be.

They would, of course, have to ask Dad. Although, thinking about it, Dean wasn't so sure about the "of course". Everyone he'd asked had confirmed that Dad hadn't been around much, and Sam had admitted that he'd even thrown him out for getting admitted to college on a full ride.

He didn't really deserve to be told of his son's success and celebrate with their friends.

He was certain he would have felt differently if he had all his memories; as far as he could tell, he had been infuriatingly understanding of Dad before; but some resentment must and did arise from the simple fact that, were it not for his insistence that the garage remain unchanged, he would not be an amnesiac.

He left the decision to his younger brother, simply asked him if he was going to invite Dad, and Sam, after a short hesitation, implied in the affirmative. It was certainly the right thing to do, even if it didn't feel like it.

"I've barely seen him," Dean admitted to Cas later that day. "He's only come to the shop once".

 _The Monday he reopened – and found to his delight that a few regulars had waited with small problems just so he could work on their cars, and that the walk-in business was by no means as bad as he had supposed – Dad dropped by._

 _He hadn't been drinking, at least Dean didn't think so, but he was morose and quiet, and stared at the empty space on the wall where the drawer had stood as if it had personally offended him._

" _How you doing, son?"_

 _It sounded different than when Bobby asked a similar question. With Bobby, Dean could always feel concern, worry, affection; in Dad's voice there was nothing but curiosity and a hint of what had perhaps once been parental feeling before a fire and years drowned in alcohol had swept it away._

" _I'm fine," he simply replied. "Working"._

" _I can see that". His eyes shifted to the empty spot on the wall again, and this time he didn't hold back._

" _Where's the drawer?"_

" _In the trash"._

" _It was a good drawer," he said defensively._

" _Apart from it trying to kill me, I agree," Dean said coldly. His father scarcely opened his mouth again, spent a few minutes walking about, and left._

 _He didn't mention the visit to anyone. Sam would only be angry, Cas concerned, and Bobby pissed._

Cas nodded understandingly.

They were equally certain that Bobby kept an eye on John, but they never mentioned it to the older man.

It didn't matter in the long run; Dad would come and have dinner with them and Sam and Jess and Jody in Bobby's house.

He behaved himself for the first hour. Bobby and Jody had cooked a great meal, Sam and Jess were grinning constantly, and Cas was at his side as he should be (as a friend). They were just discussing a new novel that was coming out next week when Dad asked loudly, "Dean, would you hand me the potato salad?"

Dean judged that the plate was at equal distance between them both, but obliged. Dad took it, but apparently had no intention of serving himself. Instead, he eyed Dean and Cas and asked, "What have you been doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you have to have done more than just work".

Only Dad would manage to make this sound disapproving, but it couldn't make Dean feel bad now.

"The usual. Reading, watching TV, hanging out with Sam and Cas".

"I see".

If anything, he sounded even less thrilled, and Dean really didn't need that right now, so after he gave Cas a look to tell him he was alright, he said, "I need some air", and walked out the door.

Jess and Jody had gone out five minutes ago to have some time to themselves and get to know each other better (and since Jody and their real father figure were finally dating, Dean thought it was a good idea) but he didn't feel like joining them and instead stole away into the shadows to circle the salvage yard.

Dad was behaving strangely. Not that Dean had much experience with him, but he'd never looked so openly hostile at Cas before. Not that they had liked each other – anyone who had eyes could see that that wasn't true – but they'd at least ignored each other's existence.

Why would he suddenly stare at Cas and him like that?

Dean's stomach sank. Had Dad realized? Did he know what he felt for Cas? Because, despite all his attempts to talk himself out of it, his crush was as strong as ever. And Dad didn't seem the most tolerant man. Bobby would have no problem with it, Dean was sure –

But no problem with what? He was thinking as if he and Cas were in a relationship. That would never do.

But still – the way Dad had looked at them – he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.

Voices near him made him realize that he was close to the front door again, a row of cars all that separated him from Jody and Jess. Unconsciously, he stood still to listen.

"What are your plans?" Jody asked.

"Lawrence Memorial is an excellent hospital. I'll apply there".

"And this is because..." Jody began cautiously and Jess interrupted her.

"It's because Sam always wanted to move close to his brother again. Dean is doing fine, and of course his condition is an even better reason to return, but despite what he might have feared, Sam was never going to leave him. And I – well, we're young and there's no reason to think very far ahead yet. We're certainly not going to settle down and have children any time soon. Right now, we're together and we're happy, so I'll complete my education here".

"I'm glad you agree," Jody said. "It's always good to have the same goals..."

"Like you and Bobby?" Jess teased her. Jody muttered something that was too low for him to hear, but Jess laughed before growing serious.

"Speaking of goals and couples..."

"I assume you mean – "

"Of course. Did you see how John stared at them all through dinner?" she asked, obviously displeased.

Jody sighed. "John, unfortunately, has always been rather judgemental".

"And there isn't even anything to be judgemental about!" Jess exclaimed before calming down. "Sorry. It's been frustrating to both Sam and me, how they've been dancing around each other. They're both good men, they both deserve it, and Cas has been in love with Dean for years."

Dean's heart beat faster.

 _Cas has been in love with Dean for years._

Jess didn't know them that well, or long enough to be sure, but she must have talked to Sam. Otherwise she wouldn't tell Jody her suspicions so casually.

Sam thought Cas was in love with Dean.

Sam, who'd grown up with him and known Cas since he was eleven.

Sam, who'd watched their friendship bloom and progress.

Sam thought Cas was in love with Dean.

 _Cas was in love with Dean._

Dean hadn't been fooling himself. He hadn't seen signs that weren't given, hadn't interpreted situations in the light he wished.

He had seen the truth. Cas reciprocated his feelings.

Were Dean's feelings new, though? It would seem that way since neither of them had ever made a move before and they had stayed friends for over a decade without ever crossing the boundary to something more; but –

He remembered his dream. He couldn't say whether what he had felt towards Cas there had been a genuine memory or not, but it had felt that way. He distinctly recalled dismissing the warmth in his chest as friendship and gratitude, but it was the same he felt when he looked at Cas now.

He'd always been in love with Cas, whether he realized it or not.

 _And Cas was in love with him._

He heard Jess and Jody returning to the house; he barely paid them any heed; he had to spend a few minutes calming himself down. He couldn't just storm in and kiss Cas. Could he? He'd really like to, but maybe Cas wouldn't appreciate it. They should talk first. Yes, they should definitely talk first.

Dean's good mood evaporated somewhat when a glimpse at the table was enough to prove that his father's hadn't improved in the slightest. He was glaring at Cas, who was talking to Bobby.

Dean slid into his chair, pressing a little closer to Cas than strictly necessary, the knowledge that he was in love with him making him bold.

He heard Cas' breath hitch and suppressed a grin.

"How's the garage going?" Dad began with his interrogation tone, and Dean sighed as he replied, "I'm working. It's fine. Going to start renovations soon".

"Don't see why they're necessary," John grumbled, but a dirty look from Bobby, who'd checked what was going on with Dean and his father even as he was talking to Cas, shut him up. He sighed and reached for his beer, only to find it empty; and Dean wondered how much more he'd had since he'd left.

He traded a worried look with his brother, but Sam just shrugged. He'd drunk too quickly to keep up with, then.

Jess cleared her throat and reached for her water, signalling four with her fingers.

Dad had drunk four beers in less than two hours.

If he drank like this the whole day...

Dean averted his eyes, focused on his own drink and concentrated on Cas' body next to his.

 _Cas has been in love with Dean for years._

The memory of Jess' words was enough to make him turn and smile, and Cas, who'd been studying him, obviously worried about his reaction to his father, smiled likewise.

Dean wanted to reach out and take his hand. He was going to – he'd already let go of his glass – when Cas suddenly dropped his gaze and turned away to talk very determinedly to Jody.

"Cas?" Dean asked, confused, but Cas didn't seem to hear him.

Had he done something wrong? He'd only wanted to get closer. To make his intention known. Maybe Cas had thought he was just staring? No, there'd been too much affection in his eyes, and they'd gazed at each other too long.

And it was hardly the first time Dean had stared at him in a non-platonic way or had moved to touch him unexpectedly. Cas must know.

Didn't he want it, then? Dean's heart clenched. Sam and Jess could be wrong. He and Cas certainly shared a very close friendship. It could easily be mistaken for something different.

Perhaps Cas hadn't been the one to hide his feelings for all these years. Maybe it had been Dean, always hoping, always wishing, but knowing he could never have what he desired...

He swallowed and looked up just in time to see Jess' worried glance. That didn't help, really, but thankfully, his father decided that it was time for a refill and went to the kitchen.

Where Bobby was currently putting away leftovers.

"You've had enough, I'd say".

It was calmly said, but it happened to fall in one of the pauses in conversation that take place during every party, no matter how noisome, and all of them turned their heads and listened.

"No I haven't".

"You've had quite enough to make your children uncomfortable," Bobby argued.

"Exactly. _My_ children. Not yours. So stop telling me what to do around them!"

Dean knew his father had said the wrong thing before Bobby answered. His voice had definitely taken on a threatening tone; Dean was surprised that he wasn't throwing punches yet.

"If you knew how, I wouldn't have to remind you – "

Jody decided to interfere and jumped up, racing into the kitchen.

"That's enough, gentlemen, put your rulers away. John, I think it would be best if you'd just leave".

Neither Dean nor Sam had left the table, Jess and Cas staying with them in silent support. And now Cas grabbed his hand, on his own accord, holding it gently like something infinitely precious, grounding him.

He wished he wasn't glad for the amnesia, but in this moment, he was.

He didn't want to remember nights like this, when Dad was getting drunk and angry, and they were young. They were young, and Dean didn't know what to do, and Sam was crying, and Dad drank until he passed out, leaving them hungry –

How well he could imagine it. He didn't want to experience it. Again.

Cas' thumb was massaging circles into the back of his hand.

Dad breezed out of the kitchen without looking at them.

Jody came out next, looking determined.

"So. Who wants pie?"

Somehow, the evening ended on a happy note anyway. If anything, it was as if a ban had been lifted when Dad left the house; and Sam was too euphoric to dwell on their father's behaviour.

Dean's happiness came from Cas not letting go of his hand for several minutes before recollecting himself and drawing back, blushing.

That was not the reaction of a friend. Therefore, Dean saw it right to act.

He spent the next few hours pressed against Cas' side, occasionally sinking his voice to a whisper when he wanted to speak only to him (as he did when he told him about Sam's and Jess' plans to stay in Kansas), gentle touches underlining his intentions; when he refilled Cas' glass and found it necessary to brush his arm; when he stood up and a finger trailed over his shoulders; when he casually swept a hair back that had hung in front of Cas' eyes.

Cas blushed and stammered, but he never drew back, and the light in his eyes told Dean everything he needed to know.

Things were finally starting to make sense.

It was madness to allow this. It was madness to allow Dean to fancy himself in love with him, to let him touch him like that, to let him flirt and smile and whisper to him as if Cas was entitled to any of it.

And yet he did. He sat there and enjoyed Dean's attentions; how often had he been at a bar, watching Dean from the shadows talking to a girl he had just sauntered over to, acting exactly the same, wishing fervently that it was him Dean was focused on...

Bobby and Jody and Sam and Jess apparently thought it perfectly natural that Dean should act this way. That they should be together. But it wasn't, because Dean in his right mind would never want it. He would be disgusted. He wouldn't want to be Cas' friend anymore.

So why didn't Cas say anything? Protest, explain?

Because he was weak, and because this, this mockery of what he truly wanted, would be all he would ever have. No gentle kisses would ever be traded on lazy mornings; movie marathons would never be accompanied by cuddling on the sofa until they fell asleep; there would be no happily ever after.

Cas had never really resigned himself to it, he admitted. He'd always hoped, and this, what was happening right now, felt too good, too right, wrong as it was, to stop.

So it was that he didn't say a thing when both Jess and Sam declared themselves too tired to drive home with them, or when Bobby and Jody smiled and all but pushed them out of the house.

Cas had only had two beers in the course of the evening, so that he was the driver; and it turned out to be a good thing, because Dean, exhausted from a day that had brought happiness and vexation, fell asleep in the car.

It was just as well. It would save them an awkward conversation tonight at least.

He woke Dean up just enough to manage to walk up to his apartment, then brought him to bed. Dean, with his sleep-addled mind, his eyes half-open, smiled as Cas pulled the blanket over him, then reached out, brought his head down, and kissed him.

He whispered gently, "Goodnight, Cas", closed his eyes, and was out like a light.

Cas stood there, frozen on the spot. Dean hadn't drunk much tonight; just enough to make him unsure whether or not he should drive. And his exhaustion alone wouldn't explain –

The kiss changed nothing, he told himself, forcing his legs to move and leave the room. Dean was barely awake, and it was a part of his delusion, of the trick his mind was playing on him. He was misinterpreting the closeness that had always existed between them, and sadly Cas had never concealed his feelings as well as he thought, so that Dean believed himself in the right to act on his own imagined and Cas' real emotions.

Tomorrow he'd have to explain. He should have gone home, but they had taken the Impala to Bobby's and, despite Dean feeling well, he was still reluctant to leave him alone. So, against his better judgement, not wishing to trifle with Sam's and Jess' things, he curled up on the sofa and hoped for a few hours of rest.

They were woken at six am by someone hammering at the door. Cas moved before his mind had caught up with his body and found himself leaning, still half-asleep, against the door, trying to remember how to open it and whether or not shouting through it shortly after sunrise was socially acceptable behaviour or not.

Dean stumbled out of his bedroom, blinking sleepily. It took them a few seconds to realize who was behind the door and what they were yelling, and Cas wished he'd had the presence of mind to act while he still had time.

"Dean, open the door!"

John sounded drunk, more drunk than Cas had ever seen him – and he'd seen him at his worst, as he had then believed, when he'd one day fallen into the kitchen while he and Dean had been studying. He had never forgotten the look on his best friend's face as he had helped him carry the dead weight of his father.

Dean looked confused, if a bit annoyed.

At the same time, Cas felt anger wash through him, born from years of watching Dean unhappy and dissatisfied with his life.

Dean was angry because his father hadn't been there for him over the years, had attacked his feelings of self-worth until they were all but non-existent, had refused to let him live as he wanted. But he _knew_ these things because someone _had told him_. Cas had _seen_ them happen, had seen Dean allow every chance to change his life pass him by, and just because his father had decided that his son had to do exactly what he said, act as he wished.

He was tempted to throw the door open and give him a piece of his mind, but he had to know it was alright with Dean first.

He looked at him, and he nodded.

Cas opened the door, but in his rightful indignation he had simply not considered that Dean's father was drunk and wouldn't act like a sensible person.

He found himself being shoved aside and John storming up to Dean.

He slammed into the wall as Dean called out his name and wanted to run to him, but his father blocked his way.

Cas didn't seem to be injured, but he did look confused and somewhat angry. Not that Dean could blame him. He was feeling rather pissed as well.

"Enough of you ignoring me," his father growled, but at least he wasn't shouting anymore. Dean really didn't want to explain to the police that the drunk man who was disturbing the peace was related to him.

"I don't ignore you," he began, shooting Cas a look to calm him down. He might have been angry, but Cas, now that his confusion had passed, looked downright furious. The last thing he wanted was to have to break up a fight between his best friend and his father in his apartment.

"No? What about the shop, then?"

"What about it? I've been fixing cars. Making plans".

"Plans to screw it all up!"

Before Dean could reply, his father continued. Instead of becoming louder again, as Dean had feared he would, his voice grew more and more quiet, giving his words more weight. Still his state made it difficult to understand him; some words were slurred almost beyond comprehension.

"Like you always do".

"Now wait a moment – "

"You've never done anything right. You can't keep the shop afloat, and you're stupid. Too stupid to follow orders. You're not like Sam. Sam's clever. He'll make something out of his life – "

"The way I've heard it – "

"And you are just sitting here, screwing it all up – "

"I fail to see how – "

Cas was amazed that Dean stayed so calm. The Dean he knew would have lashed out, screamed, while believing his father, well and truly certain that he was worthless.

Yet here he was, listening with an expression of barely concealed anger and disbelief that his father would sink so low.

"The shop is working just fine – "

"A drawer fell on me. I almost got killed".

"You're fine. I ain't buying this amnesia thing, either. You just wanted to have some time off –"

"If you disagree, I'm sure my doctors will be glad to explain it to you," Dean said. He should probably have been angry, but he was simply disappointed. Disappointed that the unfavourable opinion he had formed about his father had not even been close to the real thing. John Winchester was entirely self-absorbed and had left his children to fend for themselves; looking at the evidence, Dean couldn't help feeling that he was blessed to have had such friends as Bobby and Cas to look after them.

"Even if it's true, doesn't explain you getting all cozy with your little fag".

It didn't take more than that for Dean to experience all the anger he had thought himself above a second before.

"What did you just say?"

"Come on, he's been around forever, always staring at you, hanging on your every word. Of course the fag's in love with you".

Cas flinched, and his panicked expression set Dean on edge.

"What did you just call him?" he pressed out.

"What he is. You're not. You're a ladies' man. They're always swooning at your feet. That's my boy, not the fairy who was cuddling _that_ all evening".

"I think you should go".

"Throw me out? I'm your father, boy".

"No you are not," Dean said loudly, his voice vibrating with anger. He took a step forward; his father, perhaps surprised by his reaction, stepped back.

"You never looked after us. I had to raise Sam. I had to raise myself. I don't want to think how we would've ended up without Bobby and Jody and the others. It's my shop; I can do what I damn well please with it. And I'm going to make renovations. If you don't like it, don't go there. And one last thing – who I spend my time with, who I love – it's none of your business".

He looked at Cas, and there was no mistaking his expression, it was impossible to deny what Dean believed.

He thought he was in love with Cas.

Cas had wished and dreamed and hoped to see that expression on his face for years. And when he finally did, it wasn't real and he had to turn away.

"If you think so – "

"Get out of my apartment," Dean said.

John rounded on Cas, who was still reeling from the look Dean had bestowed on him.

"If he really thinks he's in love with you, he must be screwed in the head. Go, have your way with him. God knows what he'll think when he's back to normal".

And with that final stab, in the hope that his son would soon return to what he had deemed "normal", John Winchester left, occasionally falling down in the hallway.

Neither of them paid him any attention, leaving him to fend for himself.

Dean, still completely confident, still completely unaware that this was the opposite of what he would want if he only knew himself, turned around and smiled at Cas. It was such a sweet smile; full of hope; and Cas hated himself for wishing to give in. For having what he couldn't have, and if it be for just one day.

"We need to talk".

"Yes," Cas replied tiredly, leaning against the door, resigned to the inevitable. "Yes, we do".


	11. Chapter 11

"Dean – "

"Cas – "

They began to speak at the same time, Cas intent on keeping the conversation short. Nothing would come of it if Dean were to profess feelings that weren't true. He would be ashamed and humiliated when his memory returned, and his and Cas' friendship would never be the same. Cas couldn't bear the thought of not talking to Dean every day, of not feeling the exquisite torture of keeping him close but never close enough.

"Cas – " Dean insisted and Cas knew he would have to let him talk. Dean wouldn't be satisfied otherwise, would only try to start the discussion anew. It was better to let him have his say and then put an end to all thoughts of this kind once and for all. And maybe, if he was lucky, Cas could do it without giving away that he was in love with Dean. There was no reason he should listen to his father. He had seen what kind of man John Winchester was. He couldn't believe him. And just because everyone knew, didn't mean Dean knew as well – if they could go back to living their lives as best friends, Dean never being the wiser, Cas would see it as the greatest of blessings.

He stayed silent as Dean approached him.

Dean could hear his blood pumping through his veins. His hands were sweaty. It had nothing do with the fight with Dad; if it could even be called a fight. A drunk homophobic asshole that just happened to be his father had stumbled into his apartment, thrown around insults, and left. Dean would have gladly punched him for what he had said about Cas, but him leaving was good enough; he and Cas had to talk.

He'd wanted to speak to Cas yesterday, but he hadn't been able to keep his eyes open in the car, the rock music playing from the speakers, the comforting rumble of the engine and Cas' presence relaxing him after a long day.

It was just as well. He'd shown his dad what he thought of him, and he'd gotten more confirmation that his feelings were reciprocated.

If _Dad_ could see it of all people, it had to be true.

Cas was in love with Dean.

And Dean was in love with Cas.

All that remained was to talk.

He turned to his best friend, a little nervous, yet confident and hopeful as well.

Cas was white, breathing heavily, leaning against the door. Dad's comments must have hurt him. Dean quickly stepped towards him, wishing to provide comfort.

"So I guess Dad's an ass," he began because he had to say something. Cas snorted and stood up properly, colour slowly returning to his cheeks.

"I think we can safely make this assumption".

"I didn't realize he was that bad," Dean said softly, "I'm sorry".

"Don't be," Cas said and quickly moved forwards, so that they were once again in each other's personal space. "You're the one who's suffered the most from his blatant disregard of anyone's comfort but his own".

Cas caught himself staring in Dean's eyes, once again too close, much too close. When had he stepped forward? He was supposed to keep his distance. He wanted to move away but Dean grabbed his hand.

To Dean's astonishment, Cas suddenly seemed aware of personal space and what it entailed and made a move away from him. He couldn't let that happen, not until he'd said what he needed to say. He grabbed his left hand and made the same soothing motions Cas had applied yesterday.

"Still, I wish you didn't have to hear that".

"I know".

Dean cleared his throat.

"You know, he said some other things..."

Cas was definitely trying to get away. He was tugging at Dean's hand, a silent plea in his eyes, and Dean wondered if he could really have overlooked how he felt about him. He thought he'd made his intentions clear last night. Maybe he needed to hear the words. He could do that, had wanted to do that anyway. It had become even more important to be vocal about what he wanted. Anything to get that look off Cas' face. He looked terrified. That wasn't Cas. Cas was confident, if usually in a quiet, unobtrusive way. This expression didn't fit him.

He was just unsure, Dean told himself. Soon, he'd be smiling and everything would be alright.

He waited to see whether or not Cas would acknowledge what he had just said, but instead of answering, Cas averted his eyes and tried even more determinedly to disentangle their hands. Dean wouldn't allow it.

"He said you were in love with me. Is it true?"

"Dean".

Cas had decided to listen to Dean, give a calm answer, and leave, their friendship hopefully still intact.

The pronunciation of his name in a pained, agitated voice made Dean pause. It was almost like Cas was begging him to stop. But could he really fear rejection? Could he really, with Dean holding his hand and looking at him hopefully?

"I'm in love with you, too," he breathed. There was no time to lead up. Cas was scared, and vulnerable, and Dean needed him to hear the truth.

Cas stilled. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly. Dean couldn't tell what was going on in his head, but he was no longer trying to get away and that was something.

He had underestimated the effect the words he'd been longing to hear would have on him. Since he was sixteen, he had now and then dreamed and imagined that Dean could reciprocate his feelings, guiltily, secretly.

Dean was telling him that he loved him, and it wasn't true. Dean was telling him that he loved him, and it resulted from a head injury. Dean was telling him that he loved him, and Cas had to reject him.

The temptation was strong, stronger than he had anticipated. To just give in. Let go of his doubts, move closer. Taste his lips, hold him in his arms, feel loved.

It was an intense struggle, but thankfully a brief one. It ended with the same thought it had begun: _He couldn't do that to Dean._ Dean believed he had feelings for Cas, was drawn to Cas. Cas knew of his heterosexuality. To use him in a way that he would never consent to – just the thought was enough to make Cas sick.

He opened his eyes and hoped he looked calm as he said, "You are not".

Dean didn't know what exactly he had expected, but a smile and a kiss would have been nice. Cas telling him that he didn't love him had been low on his list of possible reactions.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Cas replied flatly, "that you are not in love with me and never have been".

He drew his hand back and this time, Dean didn't hold on to it.

He was confused and slightly angry.

"What do you mean? No offense, but I know my feelings better than you do – "

"You don't. Not right now". Cas looked down on the floor. "You are straight, Dean. Your whole life, you have never given any indication that you were attracted to men". It occurred to him then that he could hardly look sure of what he was saying if he was looking at the floor, and he forced himself to lift his head again.

"And? Maybe I didn't want people to know," Dean shrugged. In truth, he could see little to no reason to hide his sexuality, but growing up with a homophobic father might well have played a part in it.

"This is ridiculous, you can't just tell me that – "

"It's about more than sex, Cas," Dean rolled his eyes. "Do I really have to explain this to you? When I woke up in the hospital, I thought you were hot". Cas blushed. At least he'd gotten a different reaction from him than this cold, empty stare.

"And then I got to know you, and – you're awesome. You're awesome and kind and intelligent and friendly and badass and funny, and I can't understand why no one's snatched you up yet. You are amazing".

Cas swallowed. This certainly sounded like Dean was... No. Not it couldn't be.

"So why can't I be in love with you?"

Cas was about to reply when Dean realized. He'd feared he would.

"Why are we only talking about me being in love? What about you? You never answered my question".

"Dean – "

"Cas, are you in love with me?"

Lie. He should have lied. He should have told Dean that he had never seen him as more than a friend, but he looked so sad, he was so open about his feelings, even if they were misguided –

"I have been for a long time".

Dean's face lit up. He took a step forward; Cas moved away until his back was against the door, looking everywhere but at Dean. He couldn't stand the joy on his face, knowing it meant nothing.

"Cas –"

"No, Dean. You don't love me. You never have, you never will." Cas' voice was shaking. "I have accepted that, lived with the truth for years. Please do me the favour and do it as well."

"Just because you tell me?"

"No, because you don't know what you're saying. You're confused, you have amnesia, and you don't know –"

"Are you telling me I got brain damage?" Dean demanded, growing angrier by the second.

"I am telling you that you are confused," Cas explained patiently, in the tone of forbearance he knew drove Dean mad. He wanted him angry. Angry was better than understanding and telling him he loved him. Angry was better than perpetuation the lie.

"I ain't confused. I know exactly what I want."

"You know what you _think_ you want. There's a difference".

Dean stared at him, incredulous. After everything he'd done, every glance, every chance, how could Cas doubt him?

"So I'm in love with you and you're in love with me and we're going to do nothing about it? That's it".

"You're not in love with me," Cas stated in a voice that brooked no argument, and Dean could only stare at his best friend, who was studying him as if he was an interesting specimen, devoid of all emotion.

"You – " he wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to beg. He did none.

"Get out," he said, closing his eyes, "just get out".

He had never thought he'd treat Cas like he had treated Dad just a short time ago.

The door closed, and when he opened his eyes, Cas was gone.

He'd made it. Cas stumbled down the stairs and out of the house.

He'd made it. He had done the right thing. Dean wasn't in love with him and would soon realize. He'd done the right thing.

And he felt like his world had crumbled around him.

Dean managed to get to the sofa before collapsing on it. What had just happened? Cas had told him that he was in love with him but had refused to accept Dean's feelings. He had ignored everything he'd said, had treated him like a child who didn't know what he wanted.

Why would Cas do that? True, he had all the memories of their friendship that Dean was lacking; but these couldn't be new feelings. He couldn't have been friends with him that long without falling in love.

He thought of his dream. The feeling in his chest – it had been the same he experienced now when he looked at Cas. He must have interpreted his feelings differently. He remembered what others had told him. Through his father's education and his own desire to please his parent, he must have done everything to be the man his father wanted him to be, manly, dumb, discontented.

Not again. He didn't want to be that man again. He didn't want to deny his feelings for Cas, he didn't want to have the garage fall to dust around him, he didn't want to be just a mechanic for the rest of his life.

But how could he prevent it? How would he see things if he regained his memory? Maybe he'd laugh about it and hurt his relationship with Cas irreparably.

The promise he'd made Benny came to his mind.

 _Promise me you'll remember this._

How could he? How could he make sure that he saw people, feelings as they were, not as he had been taught, as he had taught himself?

He had an idea, as cliché and pathetic as it was. But if it fixed this mess, if it allowed him and Cas to be happy...

He found a pen and a few sheets of paper and began to write.


	12. Chapter 12

Cas couldn't remember how he'd made it home. He must have walked, but his mind was all in chaos.

He had just heard everything he could wish for and yet had never wanted. If Dean had been in his right mind, if he had been himself...

It was useless to speculate, but he couldn't stop. He knew those ten minutes would haunt him for the rest of his life. Not just because Dean didn't mean it, couldn't mean it, but because he could have had him, could have had something resembling a relationship, even if it would have been a farce.

He still wanted to go back, and he hated himself for it. He wanted to apologize, to accept Dean's love, move closer –

Dean knew he was in love with him, Dean wouldn't be his friend anymore when he remembered –

Dean looking at him, eyes wide and sad and confused, pleading for a chance to be with him –

He'd begun to cry, he realized, when he felt something wet on his lips and tasted salt.

He took out his phone. He had to talk to someone.

Balthazar was his friend, but not what he needed.

Right now, he needed his older brother.

He glanced at the watch. 8 am. He hoped he hadn't had a shift at the bar and was sleeping now.

Gabriel picked up immediately, to his relief.

"Brother of mine! I thought you'd forgotten all about me! In case you're cuddled up with the little patient, I forgive you everything, of course – "

"Gabriel," he pressed out, and his brother fell silent before questions came pouring out.

"Cas? Are you okay? What happened? You sound awful. Is it Dean?"

He nodded before remembering that Gabriel couldn't see him and tried to explain between sobs.

"Dean told me he's in love with me".

A pause.

"I fail to see how that's a bad thing," Gabriel said finally. "Why aren't you with him?"

"Because it's not true".

"Are you sure?"

"He never – he's straight. And if – there should have been something – before. But he never showed – and yesterday he touched me and smiled at me and flirted with me, and he only thinks he's in love with me because I've been there for him and he can't think he's in love with his brother, so it's me, and maybe he wants to get back at his father, I don't know, but – he can't be, Gabriel. He just can't. Years – I would know".

His brother realized that he hadn't called for opposition, but sympathy.

"I'm so sorry".

Cas made an appreciative noise.

"Does he know – "

"Yes. I told him." His eyes filled once again with tears. "He won't be my friend anymore when he remembers".

"Then he'd be a fool," Gabriel said firmly. "Relationship or no relationship, you've always been there for one another. I can't think so badly of Dean to believe that he would throw it all away because you have feelings for him."

"Thank you, Gabriel," he said softly.

"No problem, bro. Listen, my boss has said that I can have a vacation in two weeks – once the holiday rush runs smoothly".

It was something to look forward to, at least.

After they had said goodbye, Cas realized he couldn't stay at his apartment. There was too much that reminded him of Dean; pictures, books he'd given him as presents, that ridiculous bee plushie he'd found at a sale and pressed into his hands with "He's got just as big baby blues as you", the very furniture his best friend had helped him assemble.

He called Balthazar.

"Listen, can we meet? I don't want to be alone..."

Dean was still trying and failing to understand what had happened. Cas was adamant that his feelings were imaginary, but how could they be? He'd felt something for Cas ever since he laid eyes on him.

Sam and Jess were probably still asleep, and he didn't want to bother them or Bobby. Maybe he could have called Benny, but to be honest, he didn't really wish to talk about how badly he had screwed up...

He looked once more over what he had written. He hoped it was convincing. That it would be enough. If not –

Cas had looked so lost, so sad. Cas shouldn't look like that. Cas should be happy. Once he remembered, he would dedicate his life to make his friend believe what he had told him.

If he was right. If Cas was wrong. If...

He decided to take a walk to clear his head.

The sun of early July shone down on the city, and Dean thought that it would have certainly put him in a good mood if he hadn't just been completely honest and open and gotten his heart broken in the process.

He was still baffled that Cas could have been so blind. He had seen his friends, and they all seemed to think it perfectly natural that they were always together; and Jess had said that it frustrated her and Sam that they had been "dancing around each other".

That could only mean one thing.

But had they really been in love for years without either of them realizing? Dean, sadly, could believe it of himself.

He didn't think he was a bad man. Far from it. Nor did he believe himself dumb or unkind; all evidence pointed to the contrary. But nobody had known that he liked to read. He had hidden his bisexuality, especially from himself. He had never attempted to go to college or improve the shop.

He had trained himself to be the man he was expected to be – trained himself to make someone proud who'd never given him a second glance. Who had never wondered what he wanted.

He hoped his idea would do the trick. He hoped it would change things.

He hoped he could convince himself.

He didn't know how long he walked, but he eventually found himself at the salvage yard.

He went in.

"Cassie, are you certain – "

"Gabriel already asked me. If he had feelings for me, I would know".

"If he had feelings for you, he'd be in so much denial it would be no wonder that you didn't realize."

"I am not going to speculate. It hurts enough as it is".

"Castiel".

"Balthazar, that's it".

He fell silent. There was no arguing with him when Cas was like this, and he had convinced himself that Dean's infatuation with him was imaginary when, in truth, Balthazar had seen signs of it ever since they'd been introduced.

Cas would never believe him, though. So he did what he could – invite him to spend the day at his apartment and hope that one, or both of them, could eventually get their head out of their ass.

"He did what?" Bobby all but growled, and if Dean hadn't known his anger was directed at Dad, he would have been concerned for his safety.

"He came to my apartment, drunk, and – you know what he said".

"Yes. I. Do." Bobby enunciated every word, and Jody gripped his biceps.

"So help me God, if I have to arrest you, I'll shoot you".

"You heard what he – " Bobby broke off, breathing heavily. Dean couldn't imagine what he must be feeling; it would only add to the guilt he already carried for not getting him and Sam away from their father when they were younger.

At least they were focusing on Dad and not on what had happened afterwards. He'd only given a very short explanation and hoped it could stay that way –

Of course it couldn't.

And of course it was Sam who looked at him and said, "I'm sorry about what happened with Cas".

At this, all thoughts of their father seemed to flee Bobby's mind.

"I'm sure he'll come around. He worships the ground you walk on. He won't stay away for long".

"I sent him away," Dean replied. "I couldn't deal with the rejection, and I sent him away – "

Jess touched his arm. "It wasn't a rejection. He told you he reciprocated and doubted your feelings. Anyone would be angry".

"What if – what if he never – "

 _What if he never contacts me again. What if he does, and we can't deal. What if everything falls apart._

"The bond you share is too strong to break over something like this," Jess answered his unspoken question. "I don't know you two that well, and even I can see that".

"And I've been watching you ever since you became friends, Dean," Sam interjected. "I'm sure it's going to be alright".

Dean tried to smile at them. But he wasn't sure.

"Sam," he said slowly, because he had to tell someone. Had to ask someone to do it.

"Yes?" he asked, and when he saw that Dean didn't want to speak in front of the others he went into the living room. Dean followed, and the rest stayed behind, feeling they wouldn't be welcome.

"What is it?"

"It's just – there's something you have to tell me if – when I remember."

"Sure – what?"

"There something in my bedroom drawer. Next to my eBook reader. I have to look at it".

Sam repeated the message. "That's all?"

Dean nodded.

His little brother didn't ask, and Dean decided that he'd raised an awesome human being.

And they rejoined the others, Dean hoping that everything would turn out alright, but doubtful.

And as days passed without a word from Cas, he began to despair.

He worked, he spent time with his family, he took his cell phone out to call him at least ten times a day, but never did, he talked to Benny for hours until he got tired of holding his phone and decided to finally install Skype, he had sessions with Doctor Moseley.

He suspected that she was slightly annoyed that he wouldn't tell her why he was so sad during his last two appointments.

It just wouldn't feel right to discuss his and Cas' relationship with her. Like it was a symptom. Like Cas was right.

He hadn't had any memory flashes, and even her optimism was beginning to run a little thin. Dean was physically healthy; the amnesia hadn't had a negative effect on his mind (oh the irony, Dean thought); there was no reason for him not to remember.

She talked about hypnotism and more invasive therapy methods. Dean didn't feel comfortable with any of it.

At the same time, he was desperate to remember. He had to remember, and then he had to convince Cas.

But the more he tried, the more he found that there was simply nothing when he tried to think of the times before he woke up in the hospital. No cloud, no darkness – just nothing.

In the end, on the tenth day after his fight with Cas, it was the simplest of things.

He'd had a bad night – little sleep and frustration at not being able to remember making him cranky in the morning – and he was pouring coffee when Sam stumbled in. Jess had already gotten up, intent on jogging; but it seemed that today was one of the days his little brother hadn't wanted to accompany her.

Either that or they wanted to babysit Dean. He didn't dwell on it.

Sam accepted the cup of coffee he handed him gladly and gulped down half of it.

Dean laughed.

"Careful, Gawain, it's not the Holy Grail".

"I always liked Lancelot better," Sam murmured.

"Yeah, that's because you don't know what's badass. Plus for reasons I never understood you had the biggest crush on Guinevere, too," Dean answered, putting another spoonful of sugar in his cup.

He turned when a deafening silence was all the answer he got.

"What?" he asked when he found Sam staring at him wide-eyed, his cup halfway to his mouth, forgotten.

"What did you just say?" his little brother asked.

Dean frowned. What had he said that could have his panties all up in a twist?

"That you had a crush on Guinevere, don't try to deny it, we both know it's true – "

He realized. He put down his coffee cup slowly and slumped against one of the kitchen drawers.

He remembered. By God, he remembered.

Reading _Knights of the Round Table_ to Sam, over and over again. Begging Bobby for a job when he was thirteen because they needed to eat. Cas in school, the strange quiet kid nobody talked to. Sam leaving for college. Dean taking over the shop.

Days, nights spent with Cas.

He hadn't realized he was shaking until Sam pulled him into a hug, and he was fairly certain that his brother was crying. He hugged back and didn't care that he sobbed as well.

They pulled back and Dean rubbed the tears away.

"Good to see you, too, Sammy".

"Good to see you too" he managed, then clasped him on the shoulder. "You have no idea – Dean, just like that –"

"I'm angry it didn't come back sooner too" he tried to joke, but it fell flat.

"Wait till the others hear," Sam said excitedly. "Jess, Bobby, Cas – "

 _Cas_.

And every single idiotic thing he'd done since he'd woken up with amnesia came rushing back.

Dean let himself fall on the kitchen chair and buried his head in his hands.

Did he really tell Cas he was in love with him? He was straight. He didn't like guys. And yet, what he'd done – the flirting, the touching – thank God Cas had put a stop to it.

He suddenly remembered that Cas was in love with him. Oh please God, no. That made everything complicated. How could he hang out with him as always, when he knew Cas wanted him that way? It would be cruel to pretend he didn't know. But he could never reciprocate. Cas could have taken advantage, but he hadn't because he was a good man, better than Dean could ever hope to be.

He would apologize, and perhaps they could recover from this. He was nothing special; surely Cas could get over it. He didn't buy the "in love with you for years" thing. People didn't fall and stay in love with him.

And hopefully Cas wasn't too angry at Dad –

Dad. He'd treated him abominably. Yeah, he hadn't been around much, but he'd done the best he could. And he had given Dean the shop. And when he thought about it, his dejection before he'd lost his memory had probably come from his fight with Dad to begin with. If he'd paid more attention, he would have known the drawer was feeble.

He stood up abruptly. "Be back soon, Sammy; I have to apologize".

"Say hi to Cas for me" he said, nodding eagerly.

"To Dad," he corrected him and was surprised at the fury in his brother's eyes.

"You can't be serious".

"I am".

"Dean – he didn't even pay attention to you when you were in the hospital!"

"That's not true, he visited me – "

"And who was there _all_ the time? Cas. Me. Bobby. Remember how you called him 'Dad'?"

Dean groaned. Another memory he would rather have been without. Bobby had told him afterwards that he didn't mind, amongst all the other crap of wishing he was Dean's father. No one would wish to have fathered him, that was sure. It was nice of Bobby to lie, though.

"You're just going to let everything slide," Sam stated, astonished. "You are going to ignore that he treated you like a broken machine instead of an injured human being, what he said about Cas, that it was his fault that drawer fell on you to begin with – you are going to ignore it".

"I should have known – "

"If you had, he wouldn't have allowed you to change anything anyway, and you wouldn't have. Dean –"

Sam stopped; he hoped he was done, but then he began again.

"Bedroom drawer. Next to the eBook reader".

"What?" he asked, even though he knew. The stupid letter he had written to himself when he'd been convinced that he was smart and worth something and gay for Cas. He wouldn't read it. He'd throw it away and pretend all of this had never happened. It had always been his preferred coping method.

Sam gave him a bitchface.

"You are supposed to look at it. And I'm not letting you leave until you do".

Dean sighed. He supposed he could pretend, close his bedroom door and come out after ten minutes –

Sam was doing the puppy dog eyes now, and he was screwed.

"Fine," he relented. "I'll do it. But afterwards, I'm going to apologize".

Something dark flashed across Sam's face, but he was all smiles again the next moment.

Dean sighed after he had bedroom door. Freaking nerd. What did he think would change?

Yet he opened the drawer, as always with a tinge of guilt. This eBook reader had been expensive. He could have used the money to keep the shop running. And it wasn't like he read that much anyway. Okay, so he did every day. But he still could have done without it.

He shook his head when he saw the envelope.

 _To be read after I regain my memory_. Properly labelled and all. Amnesiac him had been just as bad as Sam and Cas.

He knew what he had written, and it would make no difference at all. He'd been confused, he hadn't seen things as they were. But Sammy –

Reluctantly, he opened the envelope.

 _Dear former (and I assume current) Me._

Dean almost snorted, even though nothing about this was funny. He didn't remember his "other self" being so polite.

 _You are reading this because you have regained your memories and I, amnesiac Dean Winchester, have ceased to exist. I am merely stating a fact, not asking for sympathy. If it makes you uncomfortable that I consider us as different persons, I apologize; but I'm certain you feel the same way._

Yeah, he did. And the style didn't help. This didn't read like anything Dean would write.

 _Five minutes ago, Cas and I had a fight and I told him to leave. I do not now possess the composure to reflect on how much damage has been done to our relationship; but I do know that it largely resulted from several life choices of yours that I wish to address._

Seriously, he wrote this? He distinctly remembered grabbing a pen. He remembered writing. But he didn't remember sounding like a pompous smug.

 _Please do not consider this assessment condescending. In truth, I only wish to be happy; which of course makes it indispensable that you are happy._

 _And I have little reason to suppose this was the case before I lost my memory._

God damnit, he'd been a self-righteous bastard. Dean was happy. Not super-happy, but content. And he was going to get his life back on track. He just had to talk to Dad and tell Cas he'd been right. He could ignore Cas being in love with him (if it was true), just like he'd kept it a secret all these years.

He didn't want to continue reading, but he knew Sam would be able to tell that he hadn't.

 _I've come to the following conclusions based on what I've been told and what I've deduced._

"All power to you, Sherlock Holmes," he mumbled.

 _I have a wonderful family. I knew this almost as soon as I woke up._

No argument there –

 _This family does not include Dad._

He read the sentence again, completely gob-smacked. Did he really write that? Could he really have... It was _Dad_. Their _father_.

 _I am aware this statement upsets you, but before you reject my opinion (as I fear you might), I ask one thing of you: compare. Compare Dad and Bobby. Compare what they have done for you, compare how they reacted to your amnesia._

He'd clearly not been in his right mind when he wrote this. True, Dad hadn't been around much, but he had been grieving, and they hadn't really been alone, he could always call Bobby and more often than not, he did when they needed help –

He sat down on the bed heavily. What did he just think?

When their dad left them alone and he got scared or they didn't have enough food, he didn't call Dad. He called Bobby.

And Bobby always came.

His mind darted to what Bobby had confessed to him – that he wished he had gotten them out, that he wished he could have raised them –

Bobby, who'd almost patted his shoulder off in the hospital –

Bobby, who'd looked after the garage and cleaned it so he wouldn't have to see his own blood anymore –

And Dad, Dad, who'd constantly asked when he was going back to work and had been annoyed that they got rid of the drawer, who'd never really seemed anxious whether he'd be okay, who'd called Cas a _fag_ –

Dean tried, he desperately tried, to come up with something, anything that Dad had done for him. He'd given him the Impala. Because Bobby had told him flat-out that he shouldn't drive anymore and threatened him to keep the car in his salvage yard. He'd given him the shop. While insisting that he should change nothing.

He'd –

What had he done? Dean had even moved out just so Sam could still visit.

Dad really wasn't part of his family, and instead of coming to the conclusion on his own, he'd needed a letter written by himself to himself when he hadn't even known himself to do it.

He took a deep breath and continued, feeling shaky. The realisation had been a long time coming, really; his fight with Dad before he'd lost his memory proved that; and yet it felt enormous.

 _I hope you did think about it. If you did, you are reading on._

 _I must admit that it feels strange writing to myself._

 _I have been told that Dad "put me down" repeatedly. Benny was most vocal on that point._

He never knew Benny knew so much, Dean realized, going through their conversation. He'd been completely honest with him. He owed Benny big time. Maybe he'd visit him in Louisiana or invite him for a few weeks.

As to Dad "putting him down" – he'd done that. He couldn't deny it. But then, it wasn't like Dean was very smart or anything like it; he'd never been as clever as Sammy; so not catering to his silly little dreams could be seen as careful parenting.

Although, considering his "deductions", as his – other self would have called them, he considered this doubtful.

He wasn't aware of the decision to continue reading.

 _Everything I have learned indicates that you don't think you – that I think I am not particularly intelligent._

 _A little girl ran into me in the hospital and I talked to her in Spanish, fluently I might add, despite never having learned it at school and instead having picked it up through soap operas._

 _I have never found a subject "above me", despite Sam using legal vocabulary and Cas talking passionately about his studies._

 _There are hundreds of books on my eBook reader. Many of them open on the last page, which indicates they've been read. They range from Vonnegut to Joyce, from LeGuin to Austen._

Dean blushed as he recalled that he'd spent hours reading in front of Sam and Cas in the last two weeks.

He had never bothered to tell people he liked to read because he didn't want to look smarter than he was. He was actually pretty dumb –

 _I fix cars. I restored the Impala. I can easily read people and situations._

 _None of this points to me being "dumb". My intelligence may be different from Sam's, but that doesn't mean it is entirely absent._

Okay, so maybe he had a point there. Come to think of it, he'd never really been lost when Sammy had started babbling about his cases, even though he'd liked to pretend to be –

The word struck him. _Pretend_.

How often had he acted like he didn't like something, or wasn't interested in something, because Dad wouldn't have wanted him to? He'd laughed with him about college even though it had hurt; he had really wanted to go to McPherson, and how could he know that he wasn't made for it if he'd never tried –

His whole world was rearranging itself and Dean wasn't sure if it was a good thing.

But one thing still remained to be discussed. He swallowed as he saw there were still two unread pages.

 _I hope I have convinced you, but there is still something else. Something else to write and read about. We both know why I've started this letter to begin with._

Dean did know. God, did he know. He wanted to just throw the letter across the room and never think about it again, but it would hardly be worth it if he left out the whole point of the damn thing to begin with.

And he couldn't have come up with anything that would convince him his feelings for Cas had been anything but a delusion. He was straight. He always had been.

He wasn't less sure of this point than he had been in a long time. Definitely.

 _Cas._

The whole line consisted of that one word, right in the middle of the page, written a little larger than the rest, and Dean wondered why it should be enough to make his heart flutter.

 _Cas loves you._

 _And you love him._

 _And no matter how strongly you deny it, it is not familial or brotherly love. It's romantic love._

Dean swallowed.

 _I figured out I was bisexual almost as soon as I woke up, and Cas helped me make that decision. I have no problem with it whatsoever. I do not define myself over who I am attracted to._

There is was, the big, scary word – bisexual. But Dean was heterosexual. He was attracted to women.

 _You have apparently been very careful to maintain your facade as a stupid manly mechanic who has sex solely with women. I don't doubt that you've never allowed yourself to ponder your attraction to men._

Because it wasn't there.

 _Please do me the favour to think of the following: Doctor Sexy, Harrison Ford, Bruce Willis._

That was unfair. They were the heroes, everyone was supposed to be rooting for them and looking up to them. That what was fiction was for. He supposed they were good-looking in a manly kind of way, but still...

 _And I have to admit that Benny is very attractive – not as attractive as Cas, but still._

As if the whole fiasco with Cas hadn't been enough. Now his amnesiac self had to think Benny was hot, too?

Well, Benny had the whole huggy bear thing going for him, and he had muscles, and nice eyes, although not nearly as nice as...

He was _not_ going to think like that about his friend.

But he'd never bothered to write down a list of men he may find attractive, and somehow it seemed... more real that way. But it didn't have to mean anything. He had eyes; some guys were attractive; that was all.

But Sam didn't turn around when a guy in uniform walked by. Benny didn't wink at cute male waiters when they brought their dinner.

Cas, of course, did look and flirt when he wanted, but Cas was bisexual. And Dean had never had a problem with that.

When he realized he was asking himself why he should have a problem with himself looking at other men like that then, he had to admit the damn letter had won again.

But there was one point on which he wouldn't be convinced.

He was not in love with Cas. He had known him for far too long, they were too good of friends...

So maybe it hadn't kept from Cas falling in love with him, but why should Dean reciprocate? He was happy with them being best friends.

Cas' face appeared in his thoughts and he smiled. How could he not? Despite their fight, he was one of the most important people in Dean's life, he was kind, smart, always there when he needed him, and then there were his eyes, and the permanent stubble he had going, and his hair –

Oh God. Oh God no.

 _I have asked you to compare Bobby and Dad. Now I ask you to compare your own feelings. In a memory flash, the only one I had, I still felt the same for Cas; I simply_ interpreted _it differently._

Feelings were feelings regardless of interpretation. Dean rolled his eyes. Did he really think –

And then the memories came crushing down on him.

 _Vonnegut. The weird quiet guy was reading Vonnegut and that was why he had run into Dean. And Dean had never met someone who read Vonnegut for fun before._

 _He picked up his book and stood up, handing it to him._

" _Hi, I'm Dean"._

 _The guy looked at him and man, those were really blue eyes. Dean felt a strange heat in his stomach._

" _Castiel," he replied in a surprisingly deep voice. "Castiel Novak. Hello, Dean"._

" _And he's named after an angel" Dean explained excitedly at dinner. "And he's smart, like crazy smart, and he has – "_

" _Dean, we're eating," Dad interrupted him. "I'm sure you can tell us all about your new friend later"._

 _Something about the way Dad said it made Dean uncomfortable._

 _They were watching TV, and Cas was leaning back and laughing at something ridiculous Dr. Piccolo had said, and Dean was feeling warm and happy and content all over..._

" _Sammy's leaving for college," he said, and he tried to make it sound like the good thing it was._

 _Cas saw right through him._

 _He hugged him, and Dean knew everything was going to be alright._

 _Sam was gone, and he was bummed, but Cas and he went fishing, and as always he knew just what to say._

 _He let his gaze wander to the last guy in the hospital room._

 _When their eyes met, he felt a stirring in his gut. He didn't think they were related, or at least he didn't hope so; he was way too hot to be –_

 _His eyes travelled to Cas; he hadn't asked him if he had a significant other. He probably had. He couldn't imagine someone not snatching him up._

 _Dean could only stare at the hand that was suddenly atop his, gently squeezing it. He had no idea if that was normal in their friendship or not, and when he found himself wondering about the possibilities, he harshly reprimanded itself._

 _It didn't help with the soft, warm hand still on his._

 _He spent the next few hours pressed against Cas' side, occasionally sinking his voice to a whisper when he wanted to speak only to him, gentle touches underlining his intentions; when he refilled Cas' glass and found it necessary to brush his arm; when he stood up and a finger trailed over his shoulders; when he casually swept a hair back that had hung in front of Cas' eyes._

None of the memories felt different. It was true. It was completely, definitely true that his feelings for Cas after and before the amnesia were and had always been the same.

He was in love with Cas.

His hands clenched, rumpling the paper.

He was in love with Cas.

He was in love with Cas.

 _No matter what you choose to do now, I hope the letter has had some positive effect. I am sorry for continuously mixing "me" and "you"; due to the strange circumstances, I couldn't help it._

 _I only hope this will give Cas (and me) the happiness we deserve._

 _Dean._

He barely registered the end of the letter; he let it fall on the floor, too astonished by the new perspective it had given him.

He'd never thought Dad was such a deadbeat parent. But thinking about it, he had to admit that was exactly what he was.

He'd believed he was dumb. But he'd never had problems accomplishing anything he'd chosen to do.

He had been certain he was heterosexual. He wasn't. He was attracted to guys as well, and it was _okay_.

And he was in love Cas.

And he'd been about to crawl right back to Dad, back into his life that, to be honest, he had never really wanted, had pictured very differently when he had been a child.

No more. He wasn't going to let anyone dictate to him how to live his life anymore.

And he was going to talk to Cas, to apologize, and once he had forgiven him...

They'd make it up as they went. They always had.

He stormed out of the room, ran past Sam and grabbed his jacket.

"I don't know when I'll be back," he called over his shoulder.

"Dean – "

"I'll be at Cas'".

He didn't see Sam's smile.


	13. Chapter 13

The last nine days had dragged by, although Cas was unable to say how. He couldn't recall specific events; he knew he had spent a lot of time with Balthazar, and that he'd often called Gabriel, and that he'd gone home after two days and stared at his and Dean's picture next to his bed and wondered how everything could have fallen apart so quickly.

He knew he shouldn't let himself go like that, but the end of his dearest, if unacknowledged hope, as well as a friendship that had lasted for over a decade and defined him as much as his relationship with his family, was simply too much to take in.

He could only hope it would get better in time and had decided to take a walk in the hope that it would clear his head or at least prepare him to do so – when someone started knocking on his door.

"I'm coming!" he called out, slipping into his trench coat.

The knocking didn't abate, and he felt resentment as he shuffled to the door. He had clearly indicated he was coming. Why couldn't whoever was behind the door wait –

He threw it open, frowning.

And looked straight into Dean's eyes.

Cas looked like he hadn't slept or eaten well in days, his shoulders hunched, his trench coat suddenly seeming too big for him, and Dean's mood sank as he realized it was his fault.

"Dean – " his friend breathed. It brought him out of his contemplations of Cas' appearance.

"Cas – "

"I – I'm glad you're here, Dean. Please come in".

Cas hoped that Dean could forgive him, forget what he had admitted to and that they could be friends again. He just needed that; just needed his friendship. It would be enough. It had been enough for a long time.

Even though, after leading him into the living room and turning around, looking into his eyes, he couldn't prevent that his mind jumped to the conclusion that he could have had Dean these nine days. He wouldn't have sat alone or Balthazar; Dean would have been with him, his to touch, his to hold, his to –

He looked down and started worrying the sleeves of his trench coat, as he always did when he was nervous.

Dean wanted to reach out, but he didn't want to make Cas more uncomfortable than he already was.

He blurted out, "You read Vonnegut".

Cas looked up.

"What?"

"You read Vonnegut. That's why I spoke to you in the first place. I never told you, but – no one else had read Vonnegut. No one else I knew. And he was and is still kind of my favourite author, and you walked right into me because you were reading _Timequake_ , and – I just wanted to get to know you".

Cas' eyes lit up.

"You remember!"

Then he recalled their fight and took a step back, panic evident on his face.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry. I never meant – you weren't supposed to know. Please forget all about it. I swear I'll never bother you with my feelings. Just – please – let's be friends. Don't – "

Cas was normally masterful with words. It pained Dean to see him like this.

"Cas – " he said slowly as he advanced, stopping when he realized Cas was stepping back.

"I don't think I can go back to being just friends".

Cas looked as if he'd slapped him, and Dean became aware how it must have sounded.

"Shit! No, that wasn't what I meant at all, I – "

He stopped and took a deep breath, then continued, calmer, "I wrote myself a letter".

"You wrote yourself a letter?"

He nodded and was relieved to see that Cas moved a little closer. Not much, but still.

"When I had amnesia. Stuff to remember when I... remembered".

Cas squinted and tilted his head to his side, and Dean wondered how he could ever have seen the feelings he had towards this man as anything different than love.

"It was mostly just... how I viewed things and that I should re-examine them and... well, I did".

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that – I was right, before. When I thought – no, I didn't think it. I knew it. And I was right.

I'm in love with you, Cas".

For one second, he saw pure joy on Cas' face and thought that he could use to the expression, but then he closed off and shook his head.

"You're not. I know you, and – "

"When you're puzzled about something, you squint and you tilt your head," Dean interrupted him, and Cas did just that.

"Yeah, that's what I meant. Your eyes crinkle when you read something funny, but you don't laugh out loud because you're so busy enjoying the stories and characters unfold in your head. You have a thing about bees for no reason at all, but it's worth it because you always buy great honey. You always wear the trench coat even though it's over twenty years old and I can't imagine you in anything else. You're annoyingly ignorant when it comes to pop culture, although I've been trying to educate you forever. You – you are the one person, besides Sam and Bobby, who I want to speak to every day. Even when we were seeing other people, I couldn't imagine not spending as much time with you as possible. Probably didn't help my relationships, to be honest". Cas' lips twitched, and Dean stepped forward.

"I saw things as I was taught to see them, and I never allowed myself to think what you meant to me. When I had amnesia, I did because I didn't remember I wasn't supposed to, and I realized. I've been in love with you for a long time, Cas. I know I made mistakes and I screwed up and I wasted too much time, but – would you please give me a chance? Give us a chance?"

Cas should probably have questioned him, should have thought about it; but Dean remembered and Dean wanted him, Dean remembered and was right here in front of him, Dean remembered and _he was in love with him –_

He breathed his name and launched himself into his arms.

Dean had kissed and been kissed often; empty, drunken kisses in bars when he'd been hungry for companionship; lazy, gentle kisses traded after being in a relationship for a while and being sure his partner wouldn't go anywhere; passionate, frenzied kisses in the heat of the moment.

None had ever felt like this.

Kissing Cas was a new experience, and maybe it should have felt strange because he had never kissed someone with stubble before, but it didn't. It felt likefalling. It felt like flying.

It felt like everything Dean had ever wanted.

Why had he waited so long to do this, again?

He drew Cas closer. It made sense that although they kissed for the first time inside Cas was wearing the trench coat he'd owned longer than Dean had known him. It was just another detail that fit him well, just another thing that made him Cas. That made him the man Dean loved.

They kissed feverishly, again and again, and Cas couldn't think. He couldn't speak. He could only kiss Dean, he could only feel.

He had believed for almost half of his life that this moment would never come.

And yet –

He had to hear it again.

He cradled Dean's face in his hands and forced their mouths apart with gentle pressure. Their foreheads were touching.

"Are you sure?" he asked softly.

"Never been surer of anything in my life," Dean said.

"I've loved you for a long time, Dean Winchester," Cas replied and kissed him again.

Their kisses grew slower after that, but not less passionate. Realizing that they were together and that they would stay together allowed them to take their time, explore each other with their mouths and fingers and lips, and the outside world faded away.

They made their way to the bedroom, barely breaking apart.

All that was left was each other. It was too much and too little at the same time, and Cas reluctantly stopped kissing Dean to drag his t-shirt over his head.

It was then that he realized his trench coat was gone. Dean must have gotten it off him somehow.

Dean was working on the buttons of his shirt.

"Always with the damn dress shirt," he whispered, annoyed, even as he continued kissing him, and it was such a Dean thing to say that Cas couldn't stop happy laughter from escaping him.

Dean broke away from him to mock-glare, then playfully shoved him backwards.

Cas landed on the bed and Dean was lying on him in a second, kissing and nibbling at his neck. Cas strained to give him better access, helping him at the same time to finally get rid of his shirt.

Then, surprising Dean, he turned them around and grinned down at him.

Dean all but growled in response and reached up, clashing their lips together again.

What followed was like nothing either had ever experienced.

Cas had long since been convinced that he knew Dean, but now he learned him in a new way, touching, stroking, his fingertips gliding over skin. Lips worshipping bodies, muscles clashing together, confessions and promises whispered between them.

Waves were dragging them towards completion, irresistible and strong, they were helpless, they could only cling to each other and concentrate on giving as much pleasure as they received, on making their beloved feel good, finally having nothing but noises to convey their emotions because words failed, had to fail under such circumstances, would never be enough.

And then Cas was screaming, or maybe he wasn't, but nothing else mattered but this moment they had taken so long to reach and almost didn't reach at all, and they lay in each other's arms afterwards, panting.

Cas didn't know how much time had passed. He didn't care. He certainly wasn't moving to figure it out.

Dean chuckled. Cas moved so he could see his face.

"Damn," Dean said. "That was awesome".

Cas laughed, feeling silly and drunk with happiness.

"It was," he confirmed, slipping his hand in Dean's.

He huffed.

"Don't like at me like that, like I'm..." he trailed off. Cas frowned.

"Dean, what were you going to say?"

Suddenly Dean smiled and the confusion left his face.

"You know what? Forget it. _Do_ look at me like that".

He gently pulled Cas into another kiss. Maybe he would tell him later that he'd been about to tell him he was nothing special but had thought better; that he had every intention of changing his life, being happy; maybe.

For now, he had more important things to do.

Much later, they had fallen asleep. Dean was woken up by his cell phone. Cas muttered something incoherent and tried to snuggle even closer into his chest.

It was Bobby, and Dean registered that it was dark outside and that he hadn't let anyone know how he was doing or what had happened since he had stormed out of his apartment some time before noon.

"Hey, Bobby," he greeted him cheerfully, because looking at Cas' beautiful sleeping face, it was impossible not to be.

"Hello, boy," he said, trying to appear calm. "Didn't wanna rain on your parade, but we've been asking ourselves if everything's alright".

"Everything's fine. Better than fine. Great," he said, and before he could continue babbling, Cas muttered, "It would be even better if you were silent" and he could practically see Bobby's stunned face.

"Please tell me you two idjits finally figured it out".

"We did," Dean answered, stroking Cas' hair. "I'm staying the night".

Bobby chuckled. "Anything else would surprise me. I'll... let you get back to it".

He hung up before Dean could answer.

Bobby let the phone sink and grinned at Jody, Sam, and Jess, who were sitting in the kitchen of Dean's apartment.

"So they are –" Sam began. Bobby nodded.

For a moment, Sam thought he would actually cry with relief, but then Jess squeezed his hand and he grinned as well.

No one mentioned Dad. He had long held only a small place in the family, and now that Dean had finally admitted to himself what everyone else already knew, it would probably disappear all together. He didn't matter.

What mattered was that Dean was happy.

Jody jumped up.

"I don't know about you, but Bobby and I are going out for celebratory drinks".

They gladly accepted.

Cas opened an eye.

"Bobby?"

Dean nodded. "In Bobby speak, he told me he's happy for us".

Cas smiled, closed his eyes again and tried to cuddle even closer, which was impossible but still nice in its own way.

"We can't lie here forever," Dean reminded him.

"We can try," was his answer. Cas looked up at him. "I still can't believe you're here".

"Get used to it".

"I'm going to," he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss against his chest. And another. And another.

"Cas," Dean forced out, "as much as I like what you're doing, we should eat something".

"You are right," Cas admitted, and he actually sounded disappointed.

They got take-out, and if Dean had had any half-formed plans to watch a movie and cuddle on the couch afterwards, they were thwarted by Cas dragging him back into bed to ravish him again and afterwards have a little pillow talk.

He told him about the letter. Cas smiled.

"I'd like to read it," he said, absent-mindedly drawing patterns on Dean's chest.

He kissed his head. "You will".

"You lied to me, you know," Dean began after a few minutes spent cuddling. "You didn't tell me the whole truth about Dad from the beginning, for example. And my life isn't as great as you made it out to be".

"But you are," Cas said simply, and Dean knew that he meant it. He buried his face in Cas' chest so that he wouldn't see his blush, only coming up for air when Cas chuckled and pulled him into a kiss.

They were both acting like lovesick, hormonal teenagers and enjoying every minute of it.

They looked into each other's eyes. Time seemed to stand still. Then Dean began suddenly, "I'd like to go to McPherson College and take a course in restoration. I'd like to renovate the shop and make it awesome, specialize in restoration maybe once I have enough money. I'd like to take you on dates and vacations and be your – boyfriend".

It was strange to finally acknowledge long-hidden desires and dreams, but the thought that it was possible they might come true made Dean giddy.

Cas laughed as an answer, loudly and happily, and when Dean stared at him, confused, he quoted " _You were sick, now you're well again and there's work to do_."

As he kissed him, grinned brightly and replied, "Yeah, there is" he didn't think he'd ever been happier.


	14. Chapter 14

_One year later_

Cas was preparing dinner in the kitchen, since his boyfriend was coming home late after another course on restoration. He smiled remembering the countless pictures Dean had sent him this afternoon alone, all of the Mustang they were restoring and with different versions of "She's a beauty, but not as great as Baby".

In fact, he found that most of what happened over this past year led him to smile as well.

 _They finally made it out of the apartment two days after Dean had shown up on his doorstep, and when they arrived at Dean's, their family was waiting for them – Bobby and Jody and Sam and Jess and even Balthazar – with their congratulations and a good meal._

" _What?" Balthazar exclaimed as soon as he saw Cas, "You were the one who called me this morning and told me you would finally engage into contact with the human race again, instead of limiting that just to groans around each other!"_

 _Dean buried his face into Cas' shoulder._

 _It was a happy evening notwithstanding, and when Dean began elaborating on his plans, Bobby immediately offered to pay for college._

 _It was a sign what the experience had done for Dean that he didn't try to argue._

 _He only stood up and pulled Bobby into a hug, and as he watched, there were tears in Cas' eyes._

 _Later, Dean pulled Bobby aside._

" _Bobby – "_

" _Not gonna argue. You can do what you want, I'm paying for you getting an education whether you like it or not"._

 _Dean laughed._

" _I know. Trust me, I got it. I just wanted to thank you. For everything"._

 _He was sure that Bobby would know what "everything" entailed, and he was right._

" _I didn't do as much I wish I did," Bobby said simply. Dean shrugged._

" _You were there, and that's all that matters, and I get it. I really do"._

 _Bobby's eyes widened, but he didn't say anything, and Dean continued.  
"I don't pretend I'm automatically seeing things different now. I'm sure there will be times when I doubt this is really what I want, but –" his gaze searched Cas; he was laughing with Jess "in the long run, they won't matter"._

 _"I'm sure they won't," Bobby replied quietly. Dean hugged him again and, if for a second a vision of children with really blue or green eyes running around the scrap yard and calling Bobby "Grandpa" appeared in his mind, he didn't mention it._

 _Dean kept his last appointment with Doctor Moseley._

 _She knew as soon as he entered the room, probably because of her crazy mind-reading abilities._

" _Mr. Winchester?"_

" _I remember. I remember everything," he said quickly, grinning and sitting down._

" _So I guess there'll be no need for further sessions" she replied, obviously gratified, and looked at his file._

" _I would like to ask you a few more questions, just to make sure you're handling this alright"._

" _Shoot," he said._

 _He answered her inquiries as to whether he'd experienced any dizziness or disorientation, or whether he found it difficult to recall what had happened during his amnesia._

 _The last question she asked didn't sound like something a doctor would want to know._

" _How do you feel about the whole experience?"_

 _Dean felt certain that she already knew, but he thought of Cas, who was waiting for his call so that they could get dinner and he asked, "Is it possible to send your own brain flowers?"_

 _She smiled to show that she understood._

 _It was a week before Dean and Sam really found time to be alone with each other, and Dean would have felt bad about it if Sam hadn't expected him at the usual table in their favourite diner with his biggest grin yet._

" _Heya, Sammy"._

" _Dean. How's the boyfriend treating you?"_

 _Dean hadn't spent a single night in his apartment in the last week._

" _Very well. How's your firecracker?"_

" _You know Jess"._

 _"She's running around telling everyone 'I told you so'"._

 _"Exactly"._

 _"Are you happy?"  
The question came so suddenly that Dean needed a few moments to answer, but when he did, it was with a soft smile. He thought of Cas, his kindness, his loving heart, his intelligence._

" _Yeah, I am."_

" _Good. You deserve it"._

 _Dean looked at his brother._

" _I'm actually starting to believe that"._

 _Sam grinned even brighter._

 _Benny laughed on the screen, Dean and Cas having decided to tell him via Skype._

" _So you did keep your promise," he said, growing serious, and Cas didn't really know what he meant, but Dean reached out and pulled him close and said, "You bet I did" and he decided that it didn't matter._

 _Gabriel decided to show up unannounced, which gave them far more merriment than him._

" _Cassie, I'm here, ready to help you nurse your broken – CASTIEL, WHY DIDN'T YOU CALL? MY EYES!"_

 _He made them pie later, so Dean supposed he wasn't as scarred as he pretended to be._

 _Dean was accepted into McPherson College and actually barged into Cas' office at university to tell him. Balthazar, who was never far away when there was gossip to be had, managed to take a picture the moment Dean pounced on him. It was on their wall now, amongst many others._

 _They had moved in together after a few months for the simple reason that they couldn't come up with any arguments against it._

 _They hadn't regretted it for a minute._

 _Dean was happier and healthier than he had ever been, doing great at college as well; and knowing that he was the cause made Cas feel giddy more often than not._

 _It was on their first anniversary a week ago that he slid the letter over the table, and Cas read it, a smile on his face at the end._

" _So Benny's attractive? Should I be worried?"_

 _Dean shut him up with a kiss._

Sadly, not everything that had happened had been good.

 _John, of course, decided to show up when the construction crew was beginning their work. Luckily both Cas and Dean were there._

 _John was drunk._

" _What's happening?"_

" _I'm having my garage renovated," Dean said simply and added, almost as an afterthought, "And my boyfriend's helping me supervise", taking Cas' hand._

 _John looked like he was about to scream once he understood what was going on, but when all Dean said was, "This is how it's gonna be. Me and Cas are together. We plan on staying together. I will do with my garage what I damn well please. And if you don't like it, you can go"._

" _This is my place – "_

" _It's not"._

" _And I just have to accept that this fucking fairy turned you?"_

" _He didn't 'turn me', John. I've loved him for years but was too scared to admit it"._

 _John had thrown him a look of disgust, mixed with shock at not being called "Dad" anymore and stormed off. They knew from Bobby that he was alive, but hadn't heard from him since._

Warm arms wrapped around Cas and brought him out of his reverie.

"Penny for your thoughts," Dean whispered in his ear and nuzzled his neck. Cas loved how affectionate Dean was, and how comfortable he was to show Cas what he meant to him even in public. He couldn't recall a single walk during which Dean hadn't held his hand at some point.

"Just thinking about us".

"Good thoughts?"

"You bet," he answered and turned to kiss Dean.

"I said I'd cook," his boyfriend murmured.

"You had an evening course," Cas reminded him.

"Wish you could see the Mustang we're working on".

"I do. You send me pictures all the time".

Dean's hold on him tightened. Cas looked at the watch and was surprised.

"You're home late even for your evening course".

"Dropped by Bobby's for a few minutes."

Cas turned the stove off for a moment so he could turn around and kiss Dean. It still felt new after a year, the simple knowledge that he _could_ , that he was _allowed_ to, filling him with joy.

"For a specific reason?" he finally asked.

Dean shrugged. "Just wanted to see him, is all".

But when Cas turned back to his cooking, he smiled and imagined the day in the near future on which he would show Cas that it took time, even with Bobby's help, to design a ring out of non-toxic car parts.

 **The End**


End file.
